“I don’t even know what I’m so unhappy about. Something just feels off,” I told her through inexplicable tears as I gazed past the stunning 12th-floor skyline, back turned to my desk, phone pressed to my wet cheek.
What did I have to complain about?? I had a wonderful husband, a near-new beautiful baby boy, and a recent job promotion under my belt – well past the cringe-inducing misfortune that had riddled my extended family in recent years (stories for another time, referenced here only for perspective’s sake).
Looking back now, what she responded with seems so simple and entirely profound: “If you could have anything you wanted, right now, what would it be?”
Little did I know, that singular question, posed so organically, would lead me down a path that showed me what it means to actually “follow your bliss” – a phrase I’d discovered in my college days, but wouldn’t come to fully grasp for almost another year.
Truth was, over the course of visiting that wise friend, who’d recently climbed out on a limb of her own, I’d glimpsed a place that felt more like ‘home’ than anywhere I’d lived in a very long time, and I wouldn’t be content again until I got back to it.
You see, I never knew you could love a place the way you fall in love with a person – to find your geographic match, so to speak. Soon enough, though, Jim, Jackson and I jumped the chasm and moved to Traverse City.
Tonight, almost exactly two years after that 1,000 mile journey from Georgia, I stood outside the home we just purchased, just a few blocks from the water that our little family’s trio of opposing elements seems so drawn to, as two deer played just beyond our yard and a baby owl (the first I’ve ever personally witnessed) called for its Mama – a sweet, soft whirring sound. It might not sound like much, but it felt like complete contentment.
In the off chance that the other pages of this blog haven’t already sufficienly conveyed it, I fully acknowledge what a blessed woman I am. And what I really mean to say is this…
Like bliss pouring from a fountain,
I catch what I can in a humble cup.
I brag not, but implore you:
Find your tap and guzzle up.