By Meredith Siegel Cohen, Creator, Single and Striking Out

One morning, still in that pre-focus haze, I casually asked my colleague about her evening. She responded that she had a really nice dinner with her family. I listened with one ear as I was hanging up my coat. I naturally assumed they went out to eat or maybe saw a movie. I think I murmured, “that’s nice” as I was trying to recount the day’s to-dos.

But she kept going. She said that it was a really lovely night. Nothing unusual– with her family at the kitchen table– enjoying a home-cooked meal and good conversation. They have done this a million times. Sometimes there was silence. Sometimes it devolved into argument. But that evening, their “same old” was warm and wonderful.

That got my attention. I looked up. She found joy in the ordinary.

For me, this is not a new concept. I have written about this before.

We pondered the little things- the mundane. How much of life does that take up? 90%? 95%?

And yet . . . so much of our time we dream of the extraordinary. The what ifs. Getting to the top of the corporate ladder. Publishing a New York Times bestseller. Having the perfect home, the perfect car, the perfect friends, the perfect life. The white knight.

Can I be blunt?

What a crock of shit.

Who would want perfection anyway? It would drain the soul of life.

I recently finished watching the series Younger on Netflix. I loved the premise, centered in the world of NYC publishing, and in particular, the character Diana. The necklace-loving, avant garde, tell it like it is but sensitive underneath, marketing dynamo. For those of you who haven’t seen it, Diana is a striking 40-something year old star at work, but not so successful in her love life. She finally meets a plumber with whom she falls in love, but consistently reminds him that he’s beneath her professionally. After bearing so many jabs, he steps away, and you think the relationship is over. When Diana realizes that she may have lost him for good, she publishes an essay in the paper and writes something to this effect, “It’s not about the man of your dreams. It’s about the man lying next to you, dreaming.”

Whoa.

I identify with her character as an imperfect woman longing for love in midlife. She had prior unsuccessful relationships as she kept focusing on the wrong things. Pedigree without principles wasn’t what she needed. And that applies to me too.

The fundamentals I am seeking are character, honesty, sincerity, and action.

Action.

My prior relationships centered on words and promises of action that never came to fruition. No more words. Or maybe, words after action. Like, tell me you love me after you rush to help me get my car fixed. A generous man of action who doesn’t have a professional degree? Maybe it doesn’t matter so much after all.

Choosing someone to love. Discovering joy in the everyday. Appreciating what is in front of you versus seeing lack.

I feel like lightbulbs are starting to appear. Why has it taken me into my 50’s to open my eyes??

What is joy for me? It’s a soft pair of pajamas and a steaming cup of coffee in the early morning. It’s a glass of red wine and rich, cheesy pasta on a Friday night. It’s my dog snuggling into my lap in the evening. It’s a cozy house, when a thunderstorm is raging outside. It’s a beautiful, sunny spring day, when the flowers are in bloom, the sky is blue, and the grass is a lush green. It’s a fully-stocked T.J. Maxx, with few patrons milling around. It’s spending time with those I really care about. And of course, it’s writing. Always writing.

A fancy car, elaborate vacations, and designer things didn’t initially pop into my head. Although I’d be lying if I said that handbags and jewelry don’t bring me a special kind of happiness.

At the end of the day, I told my coworker that I wanted a calzone for dinner. Full of cheese and vegetables, and extra sauce. Well, I ordered that calzone, and it was delicious. I noticed that it satisfied something more than hunger. I wanted it, I ordered it, and I enjoyed it, without having to consult another.

Of course, these moments don’t come without friction. As I sat at my table for one, I was keenly aware of what wasn’t there – a companion to debrief the day, to smile across the table, to reach for my hand.

That night, longing may have stood at the table. But joy took a seat. And that was enough.

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