Random observation at 7:30am

When I was about 6 or 7 I remember thinking I would be a grown up when I was able to sit in the front seat of the car. Not when I drove or owned a car. Nope. Only when I was granted permission to sit in the passenger seat as my mom or dad or other respectable adult human was driving was I truly something to be proud of.

Photographic evidence of my insane joy of being in a car

It’s a weird sense of accomplishment now to get into my car [that I pay for myself] and drive [which I am licensed by the Land of Lincoln to do] and drive to my job [in which they pay me money to do things]. Every time I sit in the front seat of any car I get that same sense of accomplishment; like I earned that seat somehow. Maybe I did. Like when I was younger, being in that seat meant I was the child who was old enough and big enough to occupy it. And yeah, maybe it was a little bit satisfying to see my brother nestled in the backseat all not in the front. I also liked the front seat because nothing was obstructing my view of the world.

Nowadays if I get the front seat it’s because of 1] I’m driving the car 2] I’m the only other person riding with the person driving and they didn’t think it was funny for me to sit in the backseat and yell “Jeeves! Turn RIGHT!” and 3] I am the girlfriend therefore I default to the front passenger seat.

Either way, I guess this sense of accomplishment— although the smallest kind— is what life is about. It’s the little things that add up to a wonderful life. Today I am grateful life isn’t moving too fast and I get to enjoying stumbling into little moments of happiness.