Raspberry Iced M

I used to think I was going to change the world. With my efforts. With my love. With success. With wisdom.

And at 38, I’ve come to realize that I’m just ordinary…

…which used to offend me.

“Ordinary.” Nothing happening. No major events. No stories worth telling.

But ordinary days are where most of life actually happens.

This morning looked like a lot of mornings do. Got the son to school. Shower. Coffee. I threw on my 17th pair of leggings and the sweatshirt that required the least amount of digging through my drawers. I dropped my husband off at the doctor. Picked up Oz Monster from daycare. Ordered groceries online.

And while doing all of that, I thought about the day ahead – what work would look like. Lunch. What chores I’d try to complete during breaktimes. I prayed. I anticipated an uneventful day. Nothing dramatic. Just life, continuing.

There is a quiet weight that exists in days like this. Not overwhelming. Not crushing. But present. It’s the awareness of everything going on beneath the surface.

The things I’m working through. The people I care about. The responsibilities I carry.

And none of it is loud. But it’s there.

My life right now isn’t chaotic. It’s not filled with constant highs and lows. It’s steady. Predictable. It’s familiar, which used to make me antsy. But now I see it differently.

This is what stability feels like.

Most of what I’m doing these days wouldn’t stand out to anyone watching. Going to work, handling responsibilities. Making thoughtful decisions.

The miracle lies in the small, unnoticed choices. Choices that don’t meet the criteria for congratulations. Choosing not to react. Choosing honesty. Choosing to stay grounded when my emotions try to pull me somewhere else. I don’t talk about it. But that work is constant.

There are small moments throughout the day that probably wouldn’t mean much to anyone else.

A conversation.
A thought I choose to sit in for a brief moment, but do not follow.
A decision I make differently than I would’ve this time last year.

They don’t look like milestones. But they are.

An ordinary Monday used to feel like something I had to survive. Now it feels like something to build on.

Because ordinary days like these are where change actually happens.

Not in big moments. Just in ordinary days like this. Days where I show up, stay steady, do the next right thing. Days when I want to fall apart but don’t. Days when I mundanely cross to-dos off of my checklist while noticing that the congratulations I so desperately sought from other people can be given to myself, by myself.

There’s nothing flashy about an ordinary Monday. But something in it matters.

Consistency. Stability. Forward movement.

And for me…right now…that’s more than enough.