Things have not gone my way lately. I had big plans that fell through. My jaw is sore from clenching my teeth in my sleep. The ebbs and flows of my days have been off-kilter, and I have not felt much like myself. I have known the pain of rejection, professionally and personally. I am answering hard questions about the course my life will take now that I am no longer married. I have felt-- and then felt shame for feeling-- a huge span of the rawest of human emotions: desire, rage, fear, worthlessness, joy.
Last night after a long weekend of friends and roller derby and trying to push through East of Eden (still wondering if a plot ever develops), I found myself in bed with Tater snuggled next to me, snoring rhythmically.
I thought to myself, I can't believe he's mine.
I thought about how I wouldn't have adopted him had I not moved into this townhouse.
I thought about how I wouldn't have moved into this townhouse if my best friend hadn't bailed on me the week before we were to move into an apartment across town (this friendship, sadly, is no more.)
I thought about how I wouldn't have needed an apartment if I hadn't packed my bag that July afternoon and left my husband for the last time.
I thought that just maybe, despite my broken plans, I was exactly where I was supposed to be last night. I was in bed, snuggling with my brown-eyed furry guy who shows his teeth when he smiles and never grows tired of his squeaky pig or his ice cream toy.
He is the physical embodiment of all those plans that fell through. He is the culmination of all those disappointments and really hard days. He is always excited to see me.
One day I hope to finally see the dream of moving to Savannah realized. I hope I figure out what I want to do when I grow up sooner rather than later. But I closed my eyes last night knowing that, for now, I'm right where I'm supposed to be, and for that reason I feel very lucky.