Contentment

At Panera there's a teenage boy and an older woman sitting in a half circle booth, a collection of coffee cups in front of them. The boy has curly, floppy brown hair extending in a cloud around his head, bangs hanging in his eyes. He's staring out absentmindedly into the crowd, not as if he's bored, but more sleepy and complacent. The older woman next to him might be his grandma—she has curly white hair in a more feminine, shorter style than the boy, and she's wearing a patterned snowflake shirt and a white puffer vest, holding a newspaper open as she reads.

Something about them strikes me as interesting—not that they're together, but that they're so content and comfortable. You'd expect a teenage boy to be playing on his phone, to be wishing he was with his friends or his video games, to be resentful he has to spend time with his grandma on his Christmas break. But they both seem happy.

I point them out to Sarah and she confirms my thoughts.

"They seem like they spend a lot of time together," she says.

Panera is bustling on this Christmas Eve Christmas Eve. Today's my first official non-working day of the break—winter breaks as someone who runs her own business are different than they were when I was a teacher or when I worked in an office. My schedule runs more around what days my clients are taking off than what days I want to take off. But still, yesterday I got all my work done and have nothing lingering, nothing to stress about over this Christmas weekend. Next week we'll drive to New York and spend a few days in the mountains with Michael's family, taking walks in the snow and cuddling up on the couch with books.

The boy and his grandma are joined by the rest of the family, now, two younger girls and a mom. It makes me think of the last meal I ate with my grandma, sitting in the sunny atrium of an Arby's in Ft. Wayne with her, my mom, and my brother's family. She was talking about how she wanted to build a rack to hold the canoe at the lake, and maybe some kayaks. The twins were sitting in their high chairs wearing plastic dog ears from their kids' meals, and Ryne was running in circles around the table. How easy it is to take for granted all those meals you get with those people you love, the times where you can sit in contentment—nothing special, no big deal. Just sitting with my family.

Lately life has seemed like a series of moments waiting for bad things to happen. I know that's not true or even supported by factual evidence, and that I'm still just trying to work my way through the losses of 2016. I know it's all a matter of perspective, or noticing the good things that happen and letting go of anxiety about what could or what will someday happen. But it's been difficult lately, to not let myself get down about other people or situations or worries. Anxiety seems like a constant friend right now.

But for the moment I try to put it aside and write, slowing things down and shutting things out, and I realize that this moment here is one I should be grateful for, too. For the opportunity to sit and have lunch with a like-minded friend, to sit amidst this Christmas bustle and put my words down. There's a chance here to be content, too, if I let myself.