My musings, my rambles and I welcome you. |
Prompt:"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." -James M. Barrie "Lani Jean!" he thundered breaking into my flow of words. What is it with people that they have to use both names I mused. And why was Ron mad? We were watching a cheesy family sitcom. I said something to that effect. "You are going to still be here with your books, your fantasties and your dog when I am married with 2.5 kids and a house in the 'burbs!" Cue door slam here. And that was the last I saw of Ron my first serious boyfriend. Okay what the hell happened? It took me a few days to puzzle it out. (I told you in earlier posts I was a robot) At dinner we were sharing dreams. He wanted the middle-class fantasy of Leave it to Beaver. I told him I wanted to travel and see more of the world. I wanted to write novels and poetry. My nursing career was just a job. Ron didn't know about my rise from Project trash to able to support myself. I wasn't ready for an alien lifestyle. When I mocked the sitcom, I mocked his dream. What does this have to do with the prompt? Everything and nothing. I was determined that no one was going to ever write my life story, but me. Unfortunately, I was not a good story writer of my life. My job was stagnant. I had no friends outside of work and I no purpose now that I had risen out of the Projects. That had been my lifetime goal. A sense of failure and depression covered me, before I gave my life to Christ. He gave me love, purpose, direction and a sense of family I had never had before then. He wrote a better story for me than I could for myself. It is not always comfortable, but serious change and growth involve some pain. I did travel. And I had adventures and made friends. So where am I now? Sitting in front of a computer in the 'burbs of a different city with a dog at my feet waiting for my hubby to come from a road trip. How humbling is that? And how sweet it is. |