Still Becoming

There comes a point in life where the things that bring you the most peace start to look incredibly small from the outside.

Ten quiet minutes sitting in the car after work before going inside.

A house that’s empty for just a little while.

A night where nobody asks, “Any ideas about supper?”

Sleeping in.
Naps.
Freshly washed bed sheets.
A hot bubble bath with zero interruptions.

None of it sounds extravagant.
Most of it probably sounds ordinary.

But lately I’ve realized those little things aren’t really about the things themselves.

They’re about relief.

Sitting in the car isn’t about avoiding my family. It’s about silence. Real silence. No kids yelling. No TV in the background. No one asking questions or needing something from me for just ten minutes. After a full day of making decisions, solving problems, answering questions, and carrying responsibility, those few quiet moments feel like taking a full breath again.

Having the house to myself feels the same way. Not because I don’t love my family, but because sometimes I just want to hear my own thoughts.

And honestly? Hearing “Any ideas about supper?” can feel exhausting some days. Not because cooking is hard, but because it’s one more decision on top of the hundreds I’ve already made that day. Sometimes peace looks like not having to think for a minute.

Then there are my chickens.

I can’t fully explain why sitting outside watching them peck around the coop calms me as much as it does, but it does. Maybe it’s because they don’t need anything complicated from me. Maybe it’s because they force me to slow down. Maybe it’s because nature has a way of quieting things that the world makes loud.

The snuggles with my boys hit differently these days too.

They’re 11 now, and I know enough about life to know these years are moving faster than I want them to. One day they won’t want to curl up beside me on the couch while watching some random show on TV. One day they’ll be too busy, too grown, too independent. So now, even when I’m tired, I try to hold onto those moments a little tighter.

The naps, the sleeping in, the bubble baths… those aren’t laziness. They’re rest in every form of the word. Physical rest. Mental rest. Emotional rest. A chance to decompress from constantly being “on.”

And random flowers on a Tuesday?
Those might mean the most of all.

Not because of the flowers themselves, but because they say:
“I thought about you.”
Not because a holiday required it.
Not because the calendar said to.
Just because.

I think that’s what all these little things have in common.

They make me feel cared for.
Safe.
Quiet.
Loved.
Human.

Maybe growing older is realizing peace rarely arrives in grand moments.

Sometimes it’s just clean sheets, sleeping past your alarm, a quiet car, chickens in a coop, and ten uninterrupted minutes to breathe.