I can struggle with envy. There was a time when the envy was directed towards things: beautiful vintage rugs, quirky boutique children's clothing, expensive skin care products. Over time, I've mostly managed to put that to rest (although it certainly sneaks up on me from time to time).
Now, my jealous tendencies, when I don't keep them in check, hone in on what other people are doing: the trips they take, the parties they have, the constant barrage of beautiful, fun things other people are doing plague me every time I stare down the looming pile of laundry in the corner of my bedroom.
My life is pretty damn picturesque, and yet, sometimes, I'm jealous of other people's adventures. Which is admittedly, ridiculous and not the least bit helpful. And even putting this all in writing makes me feel like a small, petty person with the most trivial of first world problems.
Regardless, earlier this week when we were invited to play in the creek with friends, in a place not far from our house, but so different in feeling, I was reminded that these are the days that make up a beautiful life. And these are our adventures, different from Airstream camping trips amongst the California super bloom, but no less wonderfilled.
Little bodies slipping down clay coated inclines. Hands reaching for their mother. A longish hike back with not a single complaint from a four-year-old body who is most certainly inclined to do so. Friendships made while sunning on fallen trees. It was everything I could have wanted and judging by the actual weeping that occurred when we had to leave, I would say my children agree.