Trading Places

There was a time in my life when I was a grass-is-greener kinda gal. I'd look at my life, then look around at what I could see of other people's lives, and wish I could trade places. Their problems looked smaller than mine, their gifts greater than the portion I was given.

As I've gotten older, and my world has gotten larger, I've changed my mind.

Somewhere along the line, I started to listen to people's stories. I found that having the money and the job and the house and the car suddenly didn't matter when their child fell ill, when her husband was badly injured in an accident, when the surgery went wrong and she woke up to find she would never walk again, when their son committed suicide, when the lump came back as cancerous.

Money helps, don't get me wrong, but it can't buy health or joy or friends or love. It can't buy peace of mind or bring purpose to life. It doesn't stop trouble from knocking at the door.

It amazes past-me to know this, but I've not yet met a single person with whom I'd trade lives once I listened to their stories.

It turns out the gifts and problems I've been given have been the right ones for me. I am one of the luckiest people in the world, because I've been given enough. Each time I've stumbled into a heap of trouble, I've found I have also been given just enough gifts to find my balance (eventually) and make it through to the other side. (so far.)

The grass right underneath my feet is as green as it gets. 

Who'd'a thunk it?