Have you ever driven home one day and get there and realize that you remember little or nothing about the drive and that your body and reflexes took over and did it all for you?
I had that moment today, only it was with my whole life.
Have you ever had that? That moment where you look around you and realize that Oh! Holy Donuts! The government is turning to facisim in lieu of freedom, I’m in debt up to my freaking eyeballs, I have too many kids, my car really needs an oil change and the man I married is not exactly who I thought he was and where have all the cowboys gone?
Ahem. I mean, maybe not exactly like that, because that didn’t happen to me.
It was literally like a jolt went through me, and I looked around and was all, “Uh….What and Who and Where, now?” I mean, it’s not that I don’t love my life. I do. Really.
But, this wasn’t the plan. My plan was to go to Florida State University, to live on my own until I was 22-23, to have a few serious boyfriends, but then settle down with the Wrangler-wearing, farm-owning cowboy and have twelve kids, thirty head of cows and a few horses on our Little House on the Prairie-esque ranch, and we were gonna live happily ever after.
Uh, yeah, I’m serious.
It’s funny that we can plan, and hope and dream about how we hope our lives turn out, but honestly, we don’t know until we’re driving down the road towards the corner of Old Age and Death (yeah, that’s not scary at all) on autopilot and we wake up and go, “Huh and What Now, and where are my shoes?”
In other words: Don’t plan too much.