Thursday, April 5, 2012

This is where I am supposed to be

Most of my life I've felt like I was somehow ahead of everyone in all the wrong areas and frighteningly behind in the areas where it counted. I married at 19, had two children by the time I was 22, and divorced before I was 28. I was in the TAG program of how to really make a mess of things. Don't be jealous. I didn't go to college until I was almost 30. I didn't have an actual date where a man picked me up and took me out until much later. I still don't know exactly what I want to be when I grow up. I'm not even sure I want to grow up. To be honest, there is so much more that I don't know now than there was when I was that ridiculous 16 year old girl falling in love with the bad boy in ripped jeans and untied high tops. 

One step closer. That's what it's always been. It took time for me to see life for what it was, but as I close my eyes and look back in my memories over all of the heart break, curve balls, mistakes, and triumphs in my life, I can't help but think that I am exactly where I am supposed to be exactly when I am supposed to be here. What has become painfully obvious, as I've tried to wrap the reins around my hands, often until my fingers lost sensation, is that there is more in life that I don't control than what I do.

Fate. Regardless of everything in my life that I've chalked up to poor choices, missed turns, and not following the map... there was a plan.

I've probably mentioned before that I have an aversion to country music. We can blame that on a really rough transition period after my divorce. It involved copious amounts of food, the Dixie Chicks, and depression. To be honest I'm still not sure what the catalyst was. Perhaps the Dixie Chicks caused my depression, which led to the cake, which led to the months of crying. Who in the hell knows. I'm rambling here trying to get this straight in my head. Regardless, I swore off country music after that. People would send me music on ICQ (laugh now but it was freaking awesome then), and I would pretend to listen and say nice things.

Six years ago, my sister sent me the lyrics to a song that meant a lot to her. I'd heard of the group and wasn't too enthused about hearing the song. As I read through the lyrics I was even more deterred. "OH PLEASE! God blessed the broken road? Come on. Be real." was all I could muster. Still, I said the nice things, appreciated her opinion, and silently rolled my eyes.

Time passed, relationships ended, and before you know it we're sitting right here in 2012. I've changed jobs, watched a child graduate, had a child move out and move back, and packed my belongings to leave the state to begin a new adventure. Today those boxes sit against a wall in my bedroom... waiting.

I tried. I held the reins tighter and pulled hard to the left. Still, something kept me on this path. This is where I am supposed to be. This is the direction I am meant to travel. There is something... someone... waiting on this broken road. My passion. My purpose. Now, more than ever, I am inclined to just live life as it comes, enjoy what is good, walk away from the bad, and embrace what's to come. My fate.

I will say this though, if Rascal Flatts lied about this crap I am going to be SUPER pissed. That is all.

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