Life is one giant, clumsy curveball.
Yesterday I was getting on the elevator to head to my office when I suddenly had a thought.
Sometimes you just have to trust the journey. You may not know where you’re going or how the hell you’re going to get there, but you’ll figure it out. And that’s OK.
We’re moving back to Ladysmith at the end of the month and I’m OK with it. No – I’m excited about it. Sure, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not excited about my commute, and I’m going to miss Richmond fiercely. But the way I run my hands along the walls of my home tells me that I love it. I love my home, and the journey of my life is taking me back there.
The truth is, however inconvenient it may be, this is where I’m supposed to be headed right now. For months I’ve felt like I was blowing around in the middle of a tornado, and the second that I knew I’d be moving home, the tornado dissipated.
Yesterday, a physician I work with said “It’s not the stress – it’s how we perceive it.” Sometimes a truth smacks you so hard in the face that you can’t even believe you didn’t know it before. Throughout what has been a tumultuous three months, I’ve been mostly calm and collected, and I think (Oh, God, don’t jinx me now!) that I’ve figured out how to handle difficult situations that I cannot control.
I’m leaning into them. I’m accepting them. I’m trusting the journey.