The Luxury of Choice

I am in my bedroom, folding yesterday's laundry (the laundry that sat in the bag for a solid 24 hours waiting patiently for me to have the time to deal with it, wrinkles and all). As I'm folding, I'm wondering if I should go to the grocery store - yet again - because I'm not really digging what I have around the house for lunch.

I'm folding all of these clothes: work clothes, play clothes, under clothes, socks, towels, sheets... some to go in the closet, some to go in the dresser. All to join more clothes and towels and sheets, waiting patiently for their next call to action.

I am blessed. I have choice. I can choose different things to wear, different things to eat, different places to go, different things to do. I have control over my life (even though it often doesn't feel that way to me). The only limits I have are the ones I have given myself:

  • yeah, you shouldn't eat that 'cause you'll gain weight and it's not very good for you, maybe this apple instead.
  • that article of clothing isn't flattering on my body shape, I'll pick something else.
  • I'm not a fan of the pattern on those sheets, maybe these instead.
  • Yeah, I'm not going to Paris this year because I don't have the funds. Maybe I can swing Kripalu?
  • I'm not going to date him again because we don't really mesh. Holding out for a hero! (PS, you're welcome for that ear worm).
  • You know? I'm not really that hungry right now. Maybe I'll just skip breakfast and wait until lunch.
I live a blessed, blessed life that I have all of these options, all of these choices. How lucky am I? 

I am blessed.


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