Acceptance.

Acceptance is the name of the game these days.  Acceptance of things including:

• The limits of my control over life events
• The randomness of the universe
• The fact that not everyone has the strength or know-how to deal with shit, much as I might wish they did (this only makes me admire those that do have the requisite emotional badassery even more)
• My inability to change or sway other people, even if for their own good

Although I have not written about all of them (mostly because many of the other stories are not mine to tell), this past year has been trying in more ways than one.  Losing Mila was the defining tragedy, probably of our lives, but we were also dealt illness in the family, the premature deaths of young friends, difficulty getting pregnant again for no discernible reason, and a light sprinkling of job upheaval and familial dysfunction.

Acceptance for me doesn't mean that I don't ever get sad, mad, worried, or frustrated about these things.  It just means that I can now stop and recognize that this is just the way it is, there are some things I can't change or control, the universe is big and we are small, and I have a limited number of fucks to give in my little life (please see: The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck) so I better spend them wisely, on the things I can change.  That's often enough now to make any momentary sadness/anger/worry/frustration diminish.  It brings me back to what actually matters, to this moment, and to what I am able to do with it.

I think this makes me wiser than I used to be.