I just… I guess… I never expected this. This wasn’t part of the plan.—Like I actually had a plan.
My life is an evolving tapestry of decisions, stitched together, one realization at a time:
I want to leave New York.
Winter is optional.
San Diego is amazing.
North County is even better.
I’m writing a book.
I’m a city girl.
I’m moving to San Francisco.
I am writing a book proposal.
I love him.
It’s time to move again.
I never write anymore.
He’s the one.
I am writing this book.
I still feel stuck.
Let Me Out, I’m Stuck!—It’s the title of my book. It’s the battle cry of my life.—I am forty-one years old, and I am tired of fighting. I never expected the battle to last this long. I never expected it to be this hard. To write a book, to share my voice, to be me.
No one cares about my expectations. They have their own expectations to worry about. My expectations are meaningless, and yet I am embarrassed that I still haven’t met them.— “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I say, rolling my eyes. This chick and her expectations.
I wake up to another day of questions. Who am I? What is my purpose? I really expected to know by now.
I tell myself, one of these days I’ll get to the point. You know, the point when you know exactly who you are and why you do what you do. I yearn to get to that point.
What if there is no point? Life is round, a continuous flow of Nows.
The point is Now.
Now.
And now, Now.
Now, I am impatient.
Now, I am curious.
Now, I am.