Just right

I cannot remember a time when I wasn't trying to figure out who I was and I wonder why that has always been such a big deal in my life.

By the age of three I imagined being Mrs. Pink, having a little girl three years old and living in a white house with pink shutters. Then at nine I saw myself as a willowy blonde sitting before my vanity combing my hair and thinking, if I just stay the same size and grow taller I will be just right. At twelve I dreamed of being married and having neat little dishes of leftovers tucked away in our refrigerator.

By my late teens I wanted to be a rebel with long straight hair, bell bottomed pants, smoking cigarettes and reading Zen poetry. Yet I was still looking for just the right husband so we could settle down into a life of adventure and not have litters of children.

And finally as a full blown adult I realized we were the Jones's in other people's eyes and things were still not just right.

Now, today, I look around me and realize that eight years after losing a life time's worth of possessions and people and pets, I am surrounded by the colors and books and furniture and friends that are truly just right for me. Even my social life is just right for me. It isn't what women my age are "supposed" to want," or Grammas are supposed to be, or success is supposed to look like, but it is me right now.

And that is just right.