#blessed

The kettle barely has a chance to whistle before she removes it from the burner. Water heated to precicely one hundred ninety degrees is poured into the gleaming cylinder of the french press, already prepared with coarse-ground, organic, freshly-roasted coffee beans from an ethically sourced farm in Columbia. A timer is set for four minutes. While she waits, she leans against the countertop and opens up her phone.

She begins the day scrolling through beautiful images, of friends near and far, people she's known her whole life, and strangers she feels like she has, but will likely never meet.

The timer beeps and she pours coffee into a mug. Before allowing herself even one sip, she places the mug on the windowsil next to the French Press and scatters a few errant coffee beans around, for ambiance.

"Another beautiful day! #coffee #morning #blessed"

She types the caption out, but hesitates. It's not quite right. Not yet. Opening a browser on her phone, she searches 'inspirational morning quote.'

“When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive, to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.” – Marcus Aurelius

Aha. The perfect addition. She adds these words that are not hers, along with #inspiration #inspo #rise #shine #morning #breathe, and presses send.

Little hearts begin floating up from her screen. Her follower count, which is a respectable ratio to her following count, is making itself seen by how quickly she amasses likes and comments. Her chest swells, eyes widen, and a smile plays upon her lips as she reads the notes by fellow artists like herself, sharing their own images of their morning brew, because they're connected even if they live thousands of miles away and have never met.

By the time she sips her coffee it's grown cold.

The children are up not long after, in need of diaper changes, bottles of formula, and morning cartoons. She busies herself through the morning by creating intricate art projects from Pinterest, engaging in musical play with pots and pans, and setting out some simple wooden toys from the colorful rotating bins on the shelf. She allows herself twenty minutes of television for the children while she prepares lunch, and only the shows that teach colors, numbers, or letters.

Taking advantage of the brief reprieve, she assembles sandwiches from the quaint grocery store that's on the other end of town where they only have brown paper bags, their eggs are multicolored brown and blue, and their milk comes in bottles.

Artisinal sourdough bread, peppered ham, swiss cheese, three types of fruit and one vegetable, laid out and ready for her babies to enjoy.

"Nourishing minds, bodies, and souls! #blessed #yummy #organic"

Setting the sandwiches down for her children, she posts the image to her feed. Hearts pop up. Some comments. But not as many as last time. Her follower count-- it's gone... down? She bites her thumb, brows knitting. Was it the wrong filter? Maybe she should have done another quote. There's a peach in the image, she could have added that Dita Von Teese quote about being a big, juicy peach. #feminism #positivity #healthy

She contemplates deleting it and reposting later.

The plate crashes to the floor as her children scream for chicken nuggets and french fries. She abhores their immediate addiction to fast food following their introduction to such filth four days ago in a rare moment of personal weakness. The children refuse to let up, and it's all she can do to keep herself from crying as she succumbs to the pressure and microwaves a miniature pizza for them to share.

She reassembles the sandwich from the remnants on the kitchen floor and sets it aside for herself later.

While the children nap she sits on the back step to drink microwaved coffee and stare at her phone. Scrolling, scrolling, endless scrolling. Travel, food, fashion. Gorgeous photos from all over the world, snapshots of a life more interesting than hers, more beautiful, more worthy of being photographed. The words below are more eloquent than hers, their meaning bearing more importance. They have more followers. More likes.

More worth.

If only she were a yoga instructor turned life coach hosting a wellness retreat in Costa Rica. If only she were a lifestyle and fashion blogger eating crepes in Paris. If only she were a backpacker and photojournalist touring the backroads of Uruguay.

But instead, she's here. In her middle-class home. With her middle-class life.

Average.

And her photos can't even amass more than one hundred likes, no matter how artfully she places things, how clever her notations are, how timely her quotations.

The mail holds within it the key to her salvation.

Nestled amongst the bills, coupons, and advertisements is a gorgeously wrapped brown paper package, tied with brown twine.

There is no note. There is no address. There is no reason for it to be here, but it is, and it's hers. It's perfect.

"Good things come in small packages - Aesop" #blessed #package #gift"

She waits, holding her breath. Her heart is racing, readying itself for the influx of dopamine that will bubble to the surface with each additional heart. None come.

Several minutes pass before a lone comment pops up: "oh u got one too? lol saaaame."

Her eyes widen in disbelief. Someone else received the same package?!

Another comment: "getting more and more creative, aren't they?"

Her eyes drop to the package. Setting down her phone, she unwraps the box... It's empty. Written on the back of the paper is a religious message, inviting her to a local bible study. A note about how the gift of God is worth so much more than anything material, that a life without Him is just as empty as this package.

She drops her face into her hands.

Everyone on her block had received the same box, with the same message, the same way. Much like the package, she wasn't special. She wasn't unique.

Her follower count drops even further.

There was no room for mediocrity.

Looking up from her phone, she takes in her surroundings.

Dishes in the sink. Clothes to be washed. Bills to be paid.

Nestled amongst the chaos are small scenes, deliberately set, construing perfection.

An imperfect life. A life that to many they might consider boring.

She looks across the room to her children, enjoying their sixth episode of Paw Patrol while eating fishy crackers and playing with noisy, light-up, plastic toys. They're giggling, enjoying themselves in all the ways the mommy bloggers online say they shouldn't be.

A smile meets her face. Genuine. Real.

Like her life.

She picks up her phone, eyeing the carefully curated snippets of lives that do nothing except make her feel worse about her own.

Then, with a deep breath, she deletes Instagram and moves on with her life.

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