Wandering

I have a busy brain. A busy, I-Don't-Shut-Off-Or-Up, Let's-Have-A-Dance-Party, Bet-We-Could-Solve-Global-Problems-If-We-Spend-Enough-Time-Obsessing, Oh-My-God-Did-I-Shut-Off-The-Headlights-In-My-Car?-Let's-Worry-About-It-For-Seven-Hours, I-Wonder-If-I'm-A-Good-Enough-Person brain.

It's kind of exhausting.

Okay, it's super exhausting.

Sometimes -- not often, but occasionally -- I have moments where everything is quiet. Where I find myself in a warm, safe, cozy spot and my brain, and entire person, relaxes and puts it all down and I think, "Here. This is where I am supposed to be. Right here."

I had one of those moments yesterday. When my brain decided that it was done resting (which usually happens pretty quickly as I'm not the world's best at relaxing), I started thinking about how I never in a MILLION years would have thought that I would end up where I am in life. Never. Would. Have. Imagined.

Yet here I am.

It occured to me, however, that I was always headed here. Even when things were difficult, even when things were impossible and horrible, I was always on my way here. It wasn't a straight path -- maybe it couldn't be -- but it was the road that would bring me here and I was never not on it.

I just had to wander my way here, to this place where I belong. I had to stop along the way and learn some things before I was able to get here; those lessons were and are important, and without them I wouldn't have been ready to arrive at this particular destination, but I was always coming here.

Wandering.

But getting somewhere safe and warm.