You say, “rut” like it’s a bad thing
So I was sitting on my side of the couch a couple weeks ago, next to my husband on his side. Drinking tea from my mug, he drinking tea from his mug. Watching a show on the pvr that we record every week and watch together. One of the couples on the show is talking about how they must be in a “rut” and how terrible it is being in a rut and how, how, how can they get out of this rut? And of course, I got to thinking.
I’ve spent almost 40 years developing this person I call “me”. I’ve tried activities, sports, foods, living arrangements, friends, boyfriends, jobs, technology, clothing, partying, studying…I’ve tried a lot of things. All to figure out what it is that I like/enjoy/prefer.
We used to live in Toronto, and chose to sell our house and move to the suburbs. We. Chose. This. It was a lovely area, but wasn’t for us. We now live in the ‘burbs in a place that feels like home. We have a quiet life with two kids who are amazing, curious and quirky and an furry old cat who causes me grief. We do the same things most nights, we eat at favourite restaurants, we wear favourite clothing, we do favourite things. This doesn’t mean I don’t introduce anything new into my life; of course I love new things. I love learning, and doing and going and meeting and all that fun stuff. But I also love my soft place to land when that’s over.
So I guess we’re in a rut.
But you know what? I really, really love my rut. I’ve taken great care to make my rut a happy, loving, comfortable place to be and I don’t feel one ounce of guilt over that.