Time capsule

I'm working from home this morning, blasting the 90s Rock Anthems playlist and occasionally looking out the two big windows in my clean, sunny, pleasant living room.

I suddenly remembered when I worked at the Church Office Building right after college. I loved that job, but I worked at a cubicle under fluorescent lights in a windowless room, and I remember when my boss once asked us all to describe our "dream work area" for him to submit for capital improvements. I can almost visualize Eliza of Yore rubbing her hands together in anticipation for this exercise in imagination and optimism. I can't remember everything I wrote, but I know I filled up the entire page with very small writing, and that my plan involved big sunny windows, music, plants, and soothing colors and art on the walls. (I found out later that there's a Liberal Snowflake Diagnosis for this kind of preoccupation with environment, which is Highly Sensitive Person.)

I'd like to go back in time and tell my 20-year-old self that my 35-year-old self is working next to big sunny windows with music and plants and soothing colors and art on the walls.

Maybe my 50-year-old self would like to go back and tell my 35-year-old self that my "dreams" will come true. The only thing I can think of that I'd wish for future me--now that I have all the big sunny windows I could ask for--is that my grown kids are happy and safe and productive. That's not too much to ask, is it??? IS IT??? Fingers crossed! And prayers said, and wishes written down. If I remember, in 2033 I'll let you know how it worked out.