Contentment.

It's one of those Sundays. The house is clean, the sky is dark, and I'm still in my pajamas. As Scott likes to say, it's perfect video-gaming weather. I'm perched on our fluffy grey sectional while he—you guessed it—plays video games in the office on the other side of the house.

Everything is quiet and lovely, and I feel the need to write this moment exactly as it is. Express my gratitude for the stillness, and tuck it away for the not-so-quiet days in our future that I both fear and long for.

I asked Scott last night, as we sat across from each other in a crowded pub, what year of his life has been his favorite so far. As I pondered my own response, he said, “This one, I think.”

And I get it. Our lives now look quite different than they did two or three years ago, when we were dating or even newly married. Instead of wild dreams and forays into the unknown, we take pleasure in the simple things: pancakes for breakfast, visiting nearby family, the occasional flick at our local theatre. The ups and downs are subtler, the minutes seem to pass slower. It's just the two of us, and we're more at ease with ourselves and each other than we've ever been. Secure jobs, steady income, a home in the suburbs. Date nights each Saturday, the freedom to travel or just stay put.

I've always been one to value adventure and novelty over contentment. But as I sit on my plushy couch and type these words in the quiet of a spring morning, I have to admit, I think I like this phase.