My Crimson Heart

Every year I got a little better at things, and for a long time I assumed that was what life was supposed to look like.

You get more competent. You learn the new software before the old software becomes useless. You answer emails faster. You make fewer mistakes. You become someone people trust.

I liked that version of life. I still do.

I enjoy solving problems. I enjoy understanding difficult things. There are plenty of things I can do now that would have completely overwhelmed me ten years ago, and I take some satisfaction in that.

Still, somewhere along the way, something changed.

I wish I could tell you when it happened. I can’t.

There wasn’t some crisis or dramatic turning point. If you’d asked me a few years ago how things were going, I probably would’ve said they were going well. And they were.

Looking back, though, I think I spent a lot of time living somewhere slightly ahead of where I actually was.

Whatever I was doing in the present seemed important mainly because of where it might eventually lead. I always had some future version of life in mind that would finally feel settled. Once I got there, I figured I’d be able to exhale.

The problem was that “there” kept moving.

I never thought of myself as anxious. I just thought I was responsible. I thought this was what adults did. You plan. You think ahead. You prepare. You carry things.

After enough years, carrying things starts to feel normal.

You stop asking whether all of it is necessary.

Lately, I don’t seem to hold on quite so tightly.

I still care about my work. I still make plans. I still want things to go well.

I just don’t feel responsible for holding the entire future together anymore.

And honestly, I have no idea what changed.

Maybe I got older.

Maybe I got tired.

Maybe those are the same thing.

What I know is that things feel quieter.

That’s the word that keeps coming to mind.

Quieter.

I still worry about stupid things. I still occasionally convince myself that one email has the power to ruin my life. I still overthink conversations I had three days ago.

I’m still me.

There’s just less desperation underneath it all.

And if I’m being honest, I think part of that has something to do with love.

Writing that sentence makes me smile because it sounds almost embarrassingly simple.

A few months ago, I gave my girlfriend a promise ring.

We’ve talked seriously about the future. Marriage. A home. Children. The ordinary things people have talked about for generations.

And somewhere in those conversations, I realized that we were moving in the same direction.

There wasn’t some lightning bolt moment.

I just found myself looking ahead and seeing her there.

Seeing us there.

And that brought with it a kind of peace I wasn’t expecting.

I love her.

I love the life we’re trying to build together.

I love that we don’t have to pretend to want different things.

For years, I thought I needed bigger dreams.

These days, a smaller and more ordinary dream has started to feel strangely beautiful.

Maybe that’s part of getting older.

I don’t know.

At work, the pumps pump. The sensors sense. The alarms alarm. They do exactly what they’re supposed to do.

I think I spent years trying to do the same thing.

I thought if I became efficient enough, disciplined enough, and prepared enough, eventually the bigger questions would disappear.

They didn’t.

They’re still here.

The difference is that they don’t feel like emergencies anymore.

I don’t wake up with answers.

I still don’t know where all of this is heading.

Maybe some future version of me will read this and think I was drifting.

Maybe he’ll think I lost my edge.

He’s entitled to his opinion.

Right now, this feels closer to peace than anything I’ve experienced before.

And maybe peace was never going to arrive because I finally managed to control everything.

Maybe peace was always going to feel much more ordinary than that.

Maybe it looks like doing your work, loving your people, making plans, laughing at dumb things, and going to bed without feeling like the entire future rests on your shoulders.

At least, that’s how it feels to me these days.

And honestly, I hope I don’t lose that.