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I used to envy my sister. Her effortless style, equally of clothes and life, caused a distaste for my own disjointed series of events I would call my life. I was 15. I didn't know myself. I certainly didn't understand myself. My sister did. She was engaged, living on her own, just graduated from college with a group of friends you would find on a sitcom. The kind you envy. Her deep brown hair flowed in perfect form around her delicate face, which was done just right with makeup. Such a far cry from my too-long blond hair, that sat bored next to my overdone face.

Jump to now, six years later. Coldplay is serenading my rye toast, egg over easy breakfast in my sister's kitchen. Now more than ever, I admire, rather than envy, my beautiful older sister. Her life still appears as a movie from my cross country view. Her friends who all got married together are now all having their first children. Her house has blended her taste and her husbands into a young and modern abode, like you would find in the Domino decorating mag (see my links). Hundreds of great vinyls are lined on shelves next to a mod print of my sister's role model, Audrey Hepburn. Pink and brown stripes in the baby's room show the elegance of my sister, and the hand painted sparrow silhouettes with matching guitar on the wall display my brother-in-law's artwork. At this time in my life, however, I feel hope rather than envy, knowing my life is okay where it is, and headed in an equally beautiful direction. Certainly different than hers, but wonderful for me. Being with her makes me excited for my own life, rather than wanting another's. That is beautiful.