Reaching for Eudaimonia

It has been a while since I wanted to talk to you. I have been having a lot going on recently and have felt overwhelmed by all these changes. I suppose I've gotten used to changes again. But I admit that I have been one to hold on a little too tightly to things, especially when there isn't much to be done. To be honest I don't really know how I am feeling as of late. It comes in waves. I am happy then sad, then stressed, then elated, then somber, then exhausted. The cycle of this has been on repeat the last couple of weeks. I haven't been writing to you lately. This makes me sad. It isn't that there isn't anything I wish to say or anything. I've just been consumed. Consumed has always been an interesting word, especially as an excuse. But I suppose that is what this hesitant hello is... an excuse to tell you everything you've missed. I accomplished a goal, Howard. I've met a goal that I didn't know I could accomplish. But now I'm le

"I can't ever escape Jane Austen," He would say in exasperation. There we would be, Mom and I, on the couch with popcorn in our hands and tissues on the table. We were (yet again) watching the BBC versions of the Jane Austen novels. We'd smile hesitantly, almost guilty, for watching Pride and Prejudice for the third weekend in a row. Mom and I basically had the lines down for some of the scenes and were not ashamed to practice them in public, laughing and smiling uncontrollably. "Howard, we cannot help it if Colin Firth is perfection," I would say to him. He'd lift one of his thick grey and black brows and cross his arms. "How is this productive?" He'd say. "You're the one who bought these DVDs!" I'd say back. Mom would laugh at our bantering. And of course Howard would just mumble something under his breath and make a break for it to escape the English romantics. I always thought that was a little odd since h