On slow progress, quiet moments, and the things I still like
I’ve been in a cynical mood lately.
Not in a dramatic, everything-is-falling-apart way. Just tired, and not even in a way that feels worth explaining. Things just feel flat more often than not, like I’m putting in effort and it’s not really going anywhere fast enough to matter.
There’s always something.
My weight loss is slower than I hoped. The migraines are still there. The balances are going down, just not fast enough. It’s all effort, and the return on it feels pretty minimal lately.
I’m not trying to spin that into something positive.
This isn’t a “find the joy” phase or whatever people call it. I’m not waking up grateful. I’m not reframing anything. I’m not sitting here thinking this is all part of some bigger meaningful process.
But there are still things I like.
Not big things. Just small ones that happen anyway.
The first sip of my McDonald’s Diet Coke in the morning. It’s always the same. Cold in a way that feels sharper than anything else. Crisp and reliable. It hits exactly the way I expect it to, every single time.
Finishing a book is another one. Turning the last page, closing it and sitting there for a second. Updating my reading tracker, my counters, seeing the numbers move. It’s small, but it feels like progress. Like something I can point to and say I actually finished it. And then there’s that brief flicker of excitement, figuring out what I’ll read next, knowing I’m about to step into a completely different story.
At night, when the kids are asleep and nothing else is being asked of me, I get into bed and turn something on. Lately it’s been true crime, documentaries, or going back to Grey’s when I don’t feel like thinking too much. It’s not productive. It’s not important. It just feels like mine for a little while.
And then there are the moments that don’t make any sense at all.
The other night, Holden looked at me, completely out of nowhere, and said, “Mom, when you turn 40, you should be a beekeeper.”
No context. No buildup. Just said it like it was obvious, even though I hate insects. And it made me laugh. Not in a big, meaningful way. It just caught me off guard enough to break through everything else for a minute.
None of this fixes anything. The bigger stuff is still there. The frustration, the waiting, the feeling of being stuck in a version of life I didn’t plan on staying in this long.
It’s not a transformation. It’s not a turning point. I don’t feel different. I don’t feel better. But I also can’t say there’s nothing good at all.
These small moments keep showing up. Not enough to change anything. Not enough to fix it. But they’re still there. Even when everything else feels like it isn’t moving.
And right now, that’s what I have.
Not happy.
But not nothing.
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