Hygge

day seven: hygge day

We’ve had a long and gloriously warm autumn in my neck of the woods, but like all good things, it couldn’t last forever. Yesterday was the gray, rainy, blustery day one expects of autumn in the upper Midwest. The exact manner of day where the best thing to do is stay inside under all the blankets and contemplate the outside and how happy one is to be inside under the blankets.

Today opened in much the same fashion: Rain. Wind. Clouds so midnight blue you had no idea if the sun was actually supposed to be up yet or not. Autumn is here. The days are cooler now, and the nights are downright nippy.

But a good thing is happening inside of me. Finally, after so many months I have lost count, I can feel my soul uncoiling–past my floundering survival instincts and desperate, stress-induced adrenaline binges–reaching out for light and hope. I can feel my desire for beauty returning.

Beauty in the small things, mostly. Right now I am sitting in our wing-back chair, wrapped up in blankets as I write. The smell of my diffuser is mingling with that strangely comforting smell of burning dust as I cranked on our heater to make sure it works before it gets really cold. The house is quiet except for the sounds from the street and the muted patter of my fingers on the keyboard. Our house isn’t really clean yet, but it is better. I cleaned and straightened our kitchen table yesterday, I folded the blankets in the family room, and am doing laundry. And for the first time in forever, the whole process doesn’t make me feel completely overwhelmed. I feel like it will be okay. I will do a couple more things tomorrow. When the football game starts, I will mark my music and fold the basket of laundry I brought up from the basement. I will change the sheets when the Vulcan gets home.

But for now, this is the first hygge moment I have felt in a really long time. Sort of slow and unexceptional, wonderfully cozy in its intimate ordinariness. We will eat leftovers tonight: fried rice and chili and anything else we find in the fridge. I will make myself tea. I will breathe easy and slowly and revel in this moment. I will let my soul find its rest in what God is putting in front of me right now. And I am content.

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