Yesterday, I was asked if I like my life.

Whoa. The blunt question caught me just off-guard enough that I actually thought about my answer –and thought about it for just a little too long.

Not really.

My life has potential. The pieces show promise for the future. Definitely moving in a responsible and productive and successful direction. But on the whole, at this moment, do I like it? Not really. It’s fine. It definitely could be worse. MUCH worse. Seriously, no complaints here. But then, I don’t really have too many pieces that I would brag about either.

Like chicken for dinner. It’s fine, wise decision, very healthy. But that doesn’t cover up that it’s blah and tasteless. Needs a little something … like salt. Or, a side of steak. Besides, chicken for dinner has always been a little too conforming for my taste; I would rather have cereal or an entire bag of baby carrots.

I go through the motions, each day happens, and then I go to sleep with plans to go through the same motions tomorrow. But I don’t really like it. And that needs to change.

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