As long as I can afford prosecco, I’ll be alright. As long as I keep my lights on and my fridge stocked with $16 to spare for a bottle of wine, I’ll muddle through. As long as the lights on my patio still twinkle and my curtains still float in the wind, I’ll find a way. Even on the worst days, I love my life. And that’s how I know the right choice.

I don’t regret straying from comfort for a little strife. I didn’t mind starting over if it meant jumping the tracks from a runaway train car. I’d choose the tears, lose the money, embrace the sweat over and over and over again. Because when the big things bottomed out, there were no small things I could hold on to. Not even prosecco, twinkle lights, a good view or all the king’s men.

I choose the less certain life. The more creative one. I choose to forfeit the love. And find peace. I choose to forego the comfort. I’ll submit to the trials. I will count my life by my harvests, and so far, this season is the most bountiful one I’ve seen in years.