On the drive home, I pondered where my life is going. It was all very cliche. As I drove the long stretch of highway through Maryland, then Pennsylvania, into New York, Connecticut, and finally Here, I wondered where I was going. Me, my life, my character, my being. Was I happy with me? Did I exude the kindness and generosity that is expected? Was I still the bratty younger sister, the selfish daughter, who had everything? Was I grateful for good health, family, and friends? Did I recognize everything and yet, did I take each day for granted?

Instead of reflecting on these things and creating New Year’s resolutions for the fresh beginning, I find myself thinking of renewal, fresh days without mistakes during Fourth of July fireworks. I know, strange. But yet, something about the color, the warmth, the middle of the year: it seems a more appropriate time for reflection. Although, I wasn’t reflecting on new beginnings because New Year’s is a week away. It was the repetitiveness of the road, the concrete, the misting rain, the chalky white lines on the road, the reflectors. The fog was appropriate too: the future is so unclear, yet we take for granted this very fact.

I don’t know if it’s the being married bit, but this was one of the most fun Christmas’ I’ve had. Even though it was just the four of us, the banter, the laughter, and creating memories of Bub and me cooking our first Christmas meal together as husband and wife, were indescribable. We laughed all the way home, despite my feeling sick. I realized that although our paths are unclear–and that each day is something new to think about–and not purely an expectation–that I’m elated to have DH with whom to share the rest of my life.

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