Giving Up
I spent the last year and a half complaining about the city I live in. This is following up seven years of complaining about the city I miss, wishing I was in the city I am currently in. I have complained about it being too hot, buggy and humid whilst missing the cool desert air of California. I have complained about it being too sunny, cloudless and perfect whilst missing the weather of the east coast. I have spent alot of time complaining about having no waves in South Carolina, while complaining about living too far from the beach or too much traffic while in Los Angeles.
It is a high of 77 degrees today as I write this on December 5th (I'm a little ahead on publishing these blogs), which is actually really nice weather, but just doesn't really fit the Christmas season, which I love. I am very tempted to complain about this, but you know what? I think I may be done complaining. After spending the last eight or nine years trying to find a perfect place to live, I think I am coming to terms with the fact that it does not exist. Even if it does exist, it is probably very far from my family, which would take a severe level of joy out of living there, therefore making it less-than perfect.
So from here on out I am going to try really hard to just accept where I am with the peace and joy that God provides, and press on towards another day and a brighter future. "Choose joy," my friend often tells her three year-old, but the mantra applies heavily (even more so) to us adults. I know I can be pretty bad at not complaining, having spent the majority of my life encapsulated in its burdensome walls. But it won't stop me from trying! It brings to mind this nice song by Ingrid Michaelson, which we can all sing together when the greasy fingers of discontent try to squeeze a little negative verbiage out of our throats. Words are powerful, and can be even more so when sung.
It is a high of 77 degrees today as I write this on December 5th (I'm a little ahead on publishing these blogs), which is actually really nice weather, but just doesn't really fit the Christmas season, which I love. I am very tempted to complain about this, but you know what? I think I may be done complaining. After spending the last eight or nine years trying to find a perfect place to live, I think I am coming to terms with the fact that it does not exist. Even if it does exist, it is probably very far from my family, which would take a severe level of joy out of living there, therefore making it less-than perfect.
So from here on out I am going to try really hard to just accept where I am with the peace and joy that God provides, and press on towards another day and a brighter future. "Choose joy," my friend often tells her three year-old, but the mantra applies heavily (even more so) to us adults. I know I can be pretty bad at not complaining, having spent the majority of my life encapsulated in its burdensome walls. But it won't stop me from trying! It brings to mind this nice song by Ingrid Michaelson, which we can all sing together when the greasy fingers of discontent try to squeeze a little negative verbiage out of our throats. Words are powerful, and can be even more so when sung.
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