Revelations - 10-26-08

I came to a climactic realization tonight as I was pulling out of Mom and Dad’s driveway to go home. With all the little and big revelations I have come to since my first date with It’s Just Lunch was scheduled, all the realizations of what has stymied me in the past and the courage and ferocity I’ve unleashed on the universe for what I truly want – this one seemed ultimate. As if this is what all the others were leading up to.

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It started with the realization that what all this thinking has been leading to is simply that I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want no more fear, not a whisper of it, at any stage in dating. Fear is what I’ve been lugging around for so many years, and I don’t want it anymore.

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Now, while I thought that was the culminating understanding, the key to unlock my future, it turned out to be the key to unlocking the true end to which all this was gravitating – I’ve been dancing around this for days, and really for years, even the last few days only thinking it in haphazard, subconscious fashion, and only tonight have pulled it out of the ebbing and flowing seascape of my mind: I don’t want to go on one more date with anyone other than my perfect mate. I want my next date to be with the One. I want this date with It’s Just Lunch to be that much-anticipated beginning to my life.

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And I realized as I metaphorically stomped my foot and shouted, “I’ve had enough!” that all my life, I’ve carried such an anticipation of THAT MOMENT that I’ve then somehow gone into every date thinking, “This couldn’t possibly be the date.” As if that particular date was too portentous, too significant, too life-changing, how could it ever come? When would my life, or me, or the world, or him, ever by good enough or aligned enough or coordinated enough to be ready for that great moment? Which means I’ve gone into every date expected that it’s not here yet and that he’s not here yet and that the guy sitting across from me will not be for me. And guess what – I found exactly that to be my experience.

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And so ever since my date was arranged on Wednesday, I’ve been struggling with all the old bad feelings, despite having access to a window into hope and the life I want that I had never had before. And I came simply to God tonight saying I have done every thing I am supposed to do. I’ve done the best I can but he needs to help me. He needs to help me. That simple. And I expect that help to come, which usually in my life I haven’t done.

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And I realized that all those bad feelings I’d been struggling against, the same bad feelings that have sabotaged me again and again, have come out of my reluctance to declare boldly that I am no longer willing to waste any more of my time or wait any longer for my perfect mate. I had just never been capable of just throwing that out there. To say fiercely that I want him and ONLY him. I don’t want a bunch of other Mr. Wrongs in between us. If I could put that word “only,” cosmically, in huge Hollywood-sign letters, with blinking colored Christmas lights and spotlights glowing up from below, I would. I’ve said all along I want him, and I’ve always felt I want only him, but there was never any force behind it. until now. All that I am, whatever strength I have as a cosmic frequency tower, all of everything within me, I throw behind those words. I want only him. I want him and I want him now. I claim him. I will not allow him to be anyone else’s any longer – not for another day, week, month, or year.

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There is a reason it’s taken nine months of using the Secret to draw him finally to me. I wasn’t ready for this yet. I could never have dreamed that I would so boldly and constantly call him into the seen world, into my present. I needed the last 9 months and all my successes so far, to embolden my desire with power and conviction. And here I stand, for the first time in my life, expecting what I want. I will not waste any more time going on dates with other men.

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And you know what is injecting this conviction with passion? Logic. It simply doesn’t make sense that everything is happening now so fast, every day bringing another huge step to my future, only to cool my heels with guy after guy, date after date.

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I go on that trip to Glendorn and begin writing down my vision for my future, my pen all but shivering with the power of my determination. Then It’s Just Lunch calls, out of the blue, then I have that fateful hair appointment with Stephanie where answers are reached and decisions are made. Then the next day I finally unlock my true gratitude for my life and my job, and the day after that I get the news I didn’t get the job, and later that night, answers come thick and fast with Dad sharing his thoughts that put everything that’s been happening into perfect perspective (I mean, who gets answers to a crushing disappointment so fast?), and the next day I call It’s Just Lunch, and the next day, they call with my first match, and the day after that, they arrange the date, and every day since then, as I’ve concentrated to overpower the bad feelings, I’ve written journal entry after journal entry with one new revelation after the other, piling on top of each other, all leading to this one. It doesn’t make sense that all of that happening, nine months of steady growth and development coming suddenly to birth, new things happening so fast, only to find what I’ve always found before – the same cycle of bad feelings, dull dates, and discouragement and awkwardness after. No, all of this has been happening for a reason; they reason I have held to consciously for weeks now, 3 weeks exactly: he is coming. I have claimed him and he is mine. He is mine now. There is no even remotely possible reason to have done everything the Secret asked of me, and come to understand and trust God better, and have attracted all these paving stones for the end of his journey to me, only to delay it. And if the Secret is right – and I have no reason to believe it isn’t and every reason to believe it is – then the deciding factor is me. The law of attraction is obedient to my thoughts and feelings. God will give me the desires of my heart. Any possible delay or deviation from the plan wouldn’t come from those quarters. It lies with me.

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I realize that I’ve always believed timing was out of my hands. Couldn’t do anything about when. That was God’s domain. If the One kept not coming, it was just because it wasn’t the right time. I had nothing to do with it. But if it is true that how soon I get my desire relies wholly on how closely I have aligned myself with the universe – or God’s plan – then that notion of powerlessness is blown out of the water. If it does all rest with me, then what we need is the perfect cheer, because I have finally done that. I have done and felt all I need to feel to be ready to accept him. There is now nothing more than needs to be done before I meet him. And that’s a heady thought. It is a completely new experience to truly believe that the time is now. My time is now. That I don’t have to waffle around with filler guys, men who make me feel nothing, because it’s finally time now to meet him. I want ONLY him, and I want him NOW.

The Kibosh on Fear - 10-25-08

It occurs to me now that one of the fears that has always stymied me in dating was the contradictory fear that I would find someone great. I suppose I’ve had many experiences with not feeling anything for a guy who was interested in me, and somehow that awkwardness coalesced into an unarticulated sense of me with all my imperfections being vaguely ridiculous as I strived to come into a grand, glorious love with someone who seemed like a prince. And I think I have carried that awkward anticipation of being revealed as a crushingly average, somewhat attractive, sometimes annoying woman as I’ve gone into dating experiences.

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But here is the kibosh on that argument. I know who I am. With all my imperfections, I am still sweet, soft, and very pretty. I am smart but kind. I can by hysterical but still be feminine. I stand straight and strong and carry myself like a lady. So many of the paradoxes about myself that have alternately frustrated and pleased me would strike a man as enchanting.

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Now, one of those contradictions in myself is that I have felt awkward in my imperfections while still feeling apprehensive at the prospect of being found attractive and desirable by the men I date who didn’t inspire the same interest – a prospect that is far more realistic and likely than that of being found wanting. I know I have a lot on the ball. And yet the apprehension is there at the prospect of seeing the interest in a man’s eyes. I can’t find clearer words to explain this conundrum. This is the best I can do. Perhaps it is just that the right man hasn’t shown me that interest.

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All I can say is that this muddle has been what has twisted my stomach into knots whenever I’ve faced a date. But the thing is that I’m different now I know who I am and – never true before – I know what I want and I fearlessly claim it.

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And what I want is easy dating. Only to attract men who are easy to date until I sail right into the One. I want a pervasive, unrelenting sense of understanding on my dates, a repetitive thought of, “I get it now. I get how to date.” This is what I want as I get what I truly want.

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I picture being on a date with the One – only the end result is what I will invest my attention in – and just feeling totally relaxed. Like the me that is sitting there, in all her imperfections, all her odds and ends and ins and outs, has fallen effortlessly into place. Like this is the most comfortable chair I would ever find because it is where I discovered how it felt to fall into place. That is what I want. I say it again fiercely. That is what I want. I declare it again, my mind shouting out into the ether: That is what I want. I want to come home. I want to be at the end of my journey and feel that joy and relief that it’s over and I am home at last in the warmth emanating from a man’s eyes. And I want to feel it on my first date with him. I don’t want to end a single date with the One not feeling that sense of rightness yet. I want it as soon as I meet him. Others may scoff at that, saying it is an unreasonable expectation, but my heart and mind and body is so aligned with my true love’s that I boldly declare it is possible. It is what I want. It is my experience. All the bad is behind me. All the bad feelings are only a dusty memory. Only good things are in store now. Only good things are coming to me. I will feel only good feelings. I will only be happy. He is coming to me now. Every day, every hour is one day, one hour closer he comes. He is mine. I claim him.

Visualization Entry - My Firstborn - 10-25-08

I look down at my newborn child, my firstborn, and of all the thoughts and feelings and images filling up my impossibly expanded heart, the one that is the clearest, the loudest, the most immediate and insistent, is this: He is mine. The ferocity of it swells within me and I cannot stop thinking it over and over. He is mine. All my life I was borrowing other people’s children. All my life, I had no claim beyond an enchanted, distant affection. But not now. Not with this one. He is mine.

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I can hold him for as long as I want. I never have to give him back. I can do as I please. I don’t have to explain my actions or ask permission. I don’t have to stay in the room and make sure I don’t move too suddenly and alarm the mother. I am the mother now. I don’t always have to check the time to make sure I don’t hog the baby. I’m hogging this one all I want.

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I look down at him, a sort of gloating affection on my face. No other baby looks quite like him. No other baby ever had any of me running through his veins. He is the better version of me. Half of him is me and it’s my better half. He took the best of both of us and we can see it in every generous, chubby line of him, every insanely soft part of him.

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He is beautiful, my heart sings. He is strong. He is mine. Mine, mine, mine!

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It is my turn now. And beneath the natural anxiety of “Oh, my God, what all do I do now?” is that savage pride, that undeniable claim that he is my own. My son. I can hold him as long as I like, take him wherever I like. If I want to wake him up in the middle of a nap because I can’t resist the drug of him in my arms, and endure the storm he’ll give me over that, I can. If I want to change his little outfits five times, I can. If I want to drift with him through every room in my beautiful house, I can. If I want to hold him and stare at him for hours without ever surrendering him to another person, I can.

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The freedom of it! It springs up from the same source as the freedom I felt when I fell in love with his father. I was so caught by how free I was to touch this man, smile at him, wake him up to love me, gaze at him for an eternity or two. I didn’t have to be careful of my looks or cautious with my whispered words. He was mine. I didn’t have be remain friendly but ultimately distant so his wife or girlfriend wouldn’t grow suspicious. I didn’t feel that instinctive distance from him because someone else had a claim to him. He was mine! I claimed him. I was the wife, the girlfriend, the lover, and I was free to love him as long, as freely, as boldly, as publicly as I wanted. No walls, no limits, no sociably acceptable exchanges. The freedom of acknowledging and letting loose our love at last absolutely dizzied me. And now I have another person who binds me close to him and frees me all over again. My heart has stretched and swelled to twice its size to hold all that infinite love. I’m surprised my ribs haven’t cracked with the sheer mass of emotion.

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I gaze down on that utterly defenseless face, that perfect, tiny, shockingly fragile skull and the savagery I feel astonishes me even though I was prepared for it. I would die for him. I would sacrifice myself without a thought to protect him. No one will lay a hand on him if they expect to pull that hand back whole. My blood has changed color a bit from ordinary red to fiery crimson. It’s a different feeling from the fierce protective passion I felt for my mate when he became mine. I knew, as I know now with my son, that I would die to save him. I would protect my mate at any cost. But the intensity and single-mindedness of that urge never reached the critical mass of what I am feeling now as my son makes those heartbreakingly soft noises in sleep. Suddenly the world I lived in for so long has received a warning thrummed through the earth at my feet, radiating out in ripples to reach every living thing: don’t touch my child.

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I feel the tears in my eyes start blurring my vision. He is so perfect. He is my son. He is mine. Mine.

The "Date" Is Coming - 10-24-08

When It’s Just Lunch first called last week, one of the most immediate thoughts I had was a fear of regressing. I had gained so much with the Secret over the last 9 months, but I didn’t want to risk losing that when surrounded again by dating and all that has always entailed for me. But then I determined that I had to be changed enough to withstand that risk and emerge whole.

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And I find that while the old thoughts dart back to me as I count down the days to my first date with my first It’s Just Lunch match, I am able, for the first time ever, to access the hope and peace of the future I am drawing into my reality. I am able to hold open the window to the fresh air and blow away the cobwebs that creep back to me. True, I find I have to do this repeatedly, but I am able to. It takes very little effort to call back the vision, the feeling, of being with the One, dating him, being out on a date with him. With the One I was meant for, who was meant for me, it feels so easy and natural. I feel for the first time like I understand how to date, because I’m dating him. All questions are either answered or unimportant. I picture in my head and heart the glorious, quiet feeling of being totally comfortable. I don’t have to do anything, or at least it feels that way. He takes care of everything. I don’t have to balance myself, always thinking in the back of my mind that I have to be careful of the signals I give him so I don’t unduly encourage him in my efforts to keep the talk flowing and keep the atmosphere from being awkward. I don’t have to manage the conversation to keep the topics coming. When I’m on a date with my perfect mate, the man who was destined for me, I just have so much fun. It’s never boring, and I can just be me. With him, I can feel what I feel when I feel it, and show it freely. I am free and natural and happy and balanced.

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So I am able to keep this vision in my mind as I anticipate this date. If he is the One, well, I don’t need to explain how I’ll feel. And if he isn’t, no biggie. I will know at the absence of feeling that the One is one step closer in line to me.

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He is the one I picture, the One I hold to, because he is the one on his way to me. I am calling him. Of all men in the world, he is the only one with this strange, vague compulsion urging him forward, like he is drifting down a long dark tunnel towards the light but doesn’t yet realize I’m the one at the end of it. He is coming. He is coming. He is coming.

Visualization Entry - So This Is What It's Like... - 10-23-08

So this is what it’s like to be in love. Wow. That’s really all I can say, and that still doesn’t even begin to cover it. My mind zings all the time. It’s downright surreal to feel and say all the things I have heard from everyone else all my life. It really is my time now. It seems I begin every other thought in my head with “So this is what it feels like to . . .”

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It’s all new and irresistibly glorious. It’s like I sometimes can’t physically contain the reactions; I sometimes think a heart valve will become overworked and burst like a water main under the onslaught of reactions. My reaction to the phone ringing, to his email address on my computer, to the sound of the doorbell, to the sound of his car engine turning off, to the unexpected touch of his fingers on mine. My heartbeat used to be so regular, but now it’s a pattern of randomness. Constant sudden flares of heat burst out in radiating waves from my heart at every sound of his voice and every touch of his hand.

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I am loved, my heart sings. I am loved. I am loved. This man who makes me shiver with all his many perfections, with the full complement of lovely qualities that so exceeds any other man’s, this man who commands the attention, respect, and interest of everyone in the room, loves me.

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And this man is head over heels in love, too. I am constantly amazed by all the times and ways he seeks my notice. I just can’t seem to wrap my brain around the constancy of it: he is just as fascinated with me as I am by him. He doesn’t lose interest. There never comes a point when we’re together when I feel instinctively that I need to hold back, that I need to edit my single-minded passion and need for him. There is no possibility of rejection. Because he is mine, because he was made for me and only me, because he was the one man to hear and respond to my song, he is then the only man who can draw out of me all I have saved and am capable of. It’s so freeing! I never knew what it was like, to be totally yourself, to loose your passion on someone and know with absolute certainty that they will match you, heat for heat. I don’t worry that I need to be careful or he will discover I am a little too different, or I am not quite what he bargained for. He loves it, can’t get enough, always seems hungry for more of me.

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The world has exploded, busted out of the neat mold I had made of it. Colors and sounds have sidestepped their familiar boundaries and have splashed me every moment I’m awake with a spangled intensity. Whenever he is with me, all is well with the world. When he is not with me, I still carry around the silken armor layered over me by his love. All has changed. All is different, better, brighter, richer, wilder. The only thing that reconciles me to the ending of the moment I’m in is the immediate prospect of the next moment.

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So many times in my lonely life I wondered if any love, any relationship, could be worth all the years, all the missed experiences, all the lost opportunities. Could any love be fantastic enough to compensate for all the lost time? And the answer is yes! Yes, yes, and yes. So many benefits I am gleaning from all those years when the only one to invest in was myself. Because we were both mature adults when we met, we don’t fight like we would have done when we were younger. No festering resentment or simmering anger. We are both so comfortable in our own skin, confident of our choice in each other, and more knowledgeable of how to deal with people and situations, that we can let things go, pick our battles, and address important issues calmly and respectfully. And because we both waited so long for each other, we don’t easily lose sight of that over some petty annoyance. I am glad I waited for so long for him – it makes the having not only sweeter but more harmonious. I always thought healthy relationships necessarily encompassed fights, but it doesn’t have to be fights. It doesn’t have to be that unbalancing or violent. We both make a concentrated, consistent effort to appreciate each other and be considerate of each other, so disagreements, arguments, and annoyances tend to work themselves out calmly.

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And it’s hard to stay mad at him when I look over and see his strong throat I want to kiss, or his relaxed hand that can be so gentle, or that mouth that looks so lonely in our disagreement. I just don’t like being mad at him. I waited so long for him, for him specifically even though I never knew it was him I was waiting for, that I don’t want to waste one unnecessary minute being angry with him. And when he hurts my feelings, I see the whole of him – always so gentle and considerate and loving and solicitous and generous –and I know he doesn’t mean to.

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It just boggles my mind that I have him. I get to keep him. I get to spend eternity with this stunningly delicious person. My toes curl with pleasure at the thought. He’s gotten used to seeing me lost in my thoughts with a forgotten smile on my face. He knows how much I love him. And respect him. He is such an admirable man. Girls do tend to gravitate toward men like their fathers, so it is a really good thing I have such a father, so I could have such a man. My man is such a happy, full combination of qualities that he stands out as a god among men. I about snap my buttons with pride. My chest swells when I observe him. Smart, gentlemanly, kind, assertive, sociable, gracious, funny, witty, clever, irreverent, wise. And he’s mine. He is mine.

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When he touches me, I can’t get over the sensation. A lifetime of quite simply a void of human contact outside my parents makes for a heightened awareness, a sensitivity to all the elements of that sensation of touch that no one else could guess at. The whisper-quiet slide of his big, warm hand over my skin, the heat and movement of his breath on my body when he is close. The feel of his skin beneath my palm. The rougher texture of his stubbled face, the silky yet tougher texture of his skin. I always was aware of how powder-soft my skin was, but I am struck anew by it now that I can feel his skin. And yet his skin is so delicious to me. The taste of it, the especial yield of it under my lips. It’s just so fun to touch him! I never want to stop!

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And I’m so beautiful to him. He can’t keep his hands off me, either. We are constantly touching, whether from passion, familiarity, or comfort. And it makes me shiver with pleasure when he rumbles softly in my ear how soft I am, how irresistible I am, how delicate I am. And I’m surrounded by his strength, his height, his breadth. He’s all around me. I get dizzy by how much of him there is when for the whole of my life it was just me. Small, female me. I only knew my body, my size, my skin. And then he came along and startled me and warmed me with his sheer masculinity. I love it. I don’t believe I’ll ever get used to it. It’ll probably take another thirty years just to expect it. As it is, I always notice our differences and love the freedom I feel to revel in the differences, no intimidation to be found.

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We are so alike, but his differences from me make me feel so safe, so treasured. Oh, he is a wonder. I marvel at him. He thinks he is an ordinary man, but he is never that. He is my every dream, my greatest passion.

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So this is what it feels like . . .

Visualization Entries - My "It's Just Lunch" Date - 10-23-08

Scenario #1

I went on my date with my It’s Just Lunch match and it was so great! Oh, my God! I really had no idea how enjoyable a “date” could be. It was almost in an odd way relaxing. I was totally comfortable, just myself, and I had no fear. There was not a stitch of worry about expectations or next steps or anything. I was just there getting to know this man. It was really that simple. I went there with a positive, fearless mindset, and found to my delight – but not surprise – that it felt so simple and organic. The entire time, I was interested in getting to know this person and seeing if I would be interested in going out again to learn more. “The next step” that always had me so nervous has been revealed to me to be the man behind the curtain: nothing more than what it is – a phone call, a conversation.

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And one of the big chains that has fallen off is that I don’t have to worry about it not working out. Even if I found I was no longer interested, that is not a failure. That is totally natural and only helping me narrow down the playing field. But the glorious thing is that I didn’t feel like that. I didn’t feel disinterested. Rather, I am eager for him to call. He was just so cool and easy-going but he was so interesting to talk to. He really kept up his end of the conversation. And I left the date feeling as if there was still so much I hadn’t learned about him that I really wanted another date to find out more. He is just so interesting. And he made me feel so comfortable. Man, if dating can be this much fun, and waiting for a phone call this calm, I’ve been missing out!

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Scenario #2

I had my date with my It’s Just Lunch match, and oh, my goodness. Is it too early to say I might be in love? I can’t stop smiling. One date! I know! But I can’t help thinking the words. I can’t stop thinking about him. There’s not a whit of nerves when I think about him. Just this pervasive sense of peace and naturalness, as if an egg got broken and out spills happiness instead of a yolk.

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He was so interesting. The whole time I found myself just fascinated by every word out of his mouth. And I felt just as interesting.

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And he struck me as such a gentleman. There was something in his eyes as he was looking at me and talking that made me feel so safe. It was a remarkable feeling. Even on good dates, no man who was that much of a stranger still to me ever made me feel safe. Ever protected me from my own anxieties and wonderings and hesitant predictions. But all that was so much mist before the sun when I was sitting across from him. I had the very distinct thought at one point, “Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if he was the One for me?” I’ve never thought that about any man without anxiety accompanying it that if he is the One, he might not meet up to my wishes and expectations. But this time I thought it with perfect serenity.

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And probably the most amazing thing about the whole experience was at the end. It was that typical good-night kiss that I’ve done out of an odd sense of duty before, but duty was the farthest thing from my mind. I was actually wanting him to before we even reached that point! Amazing! And it was so . . . natural. That’s the word for it. It threw into stark contrast all those other touches and kisses I endured. I felt somewhere within me a sigh when our lips touched and I just felt . . . good. Just good. Nothing more complicated than that, which is wonderful. No word so simple ever made anyone’s heart sing. Nothing could be better than “good” when you’ve never known “good” before. Oh, God, I hope he calls!

I Didn't Get the Job - 10-20-08

I didn’t get the job. I found out during resource today. I was in shock at first. The immediate thoughts in my mind were as follows: How can I handle It’s Just Lunch now, when I’m crushed? How can this be, after doing everything I could to draw TowneBank’s management training program to me? Does this mean I’m stuck at Newsome Park for the whole year? What does this mean? And the thought I would not entertain till I was done with my day or I would never have gotten through the rest of it: Do I now truly have to start another job search and deal with interviews and résumés and job fairs and career services all over again? When I finally did get in the car at 4:15, that last thought was the most horrifying, dragging out the most despairing sobs.

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And there was another thought that skipped through my beleaguered mind: I had thought that last night would have made a difference. Let me explain.

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Last night, for no apparent good reason outside of idle curiosity, I picked up some old journals and read a couple of the entries, all dated summer, five years ago. I was smack dab in the middle of my Master’s program for teaching and with practicum still a fresh horror in my memory, I was feeling stuck. I couldn’t see myself going through with teaching but I had nowhere else to go. What else was I to do?

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Along with that fear of a real life at last being one I abhorred, I was also dealing with my spiritual status. I had been back with God for two years, since giving up the ghost, so to speak, of my unchecked imaginings, and was all about church and the Bible and so anxious about doing God’s work. I was living at home still and feeling trapped by that even as I was feeling apprehensive about carving out a whole real life for myself for which I would be accountable. The circumstances of my life at the time were not pleasant for me, but what really struck me about that time was ME. The me I used to be who was spewing out such angst and anger and frustration and longing struck me as so young. So immature. And though that person at that time had been made a woman through the fire of grief and pain, she still was yet so untempered. That girl – for I cannot quite call her a woman, despite her trials – had not yet held a job, started a career, or maintained her own home. She had not embraced friends or known how to handle imperfect people with equanimity. She had learned a lot about herself and her limits through what God had worked in her since she laid down her harmless-seeming madnesses, but she had not yet learned about self-confidence and the strength to admit her true desires.

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And as I sat in bed reading these journal entries, I was aware of a sort of breaking open, a breaking free within me, whereby I was able, for the first time, to really see my life through clear eyes. The scales fell off and I saw what I had been trying to see for the Secret for some time now: I was grateful for my life. It was no longer any litany, empty words I had to recite to myself. No “fake it till you make it.” No, I could finally see what my misery these last weeks had blinded me to. As difficult as my days had been lately. I had a real life. This is a real life I’m living. I am standing on this particular, unique spot on earth, enclosed by these walls of my home. The home I bought with my own money and my own merit. I live in this beautiful home because of choices I made in my life. And I learned so much about life and people and myself because of this job. This job which had become a crown of thorns bestowed on me so many blessings. And me! I was the thing I was most grateful for after reading those entries. It was right that I never feared aging, but rather welcomed it with open arms. While friends of mine were hyperventilating at 20 about wrinkles, I sighed at the prospect of wisdom, serenity, peace, confidence, strength. I looked forward to all those things you earn with age that no amount of youth can teach you. And the me in those journal entries was yet so unstable. She was so angst-ridden and consumed with pleasing others. She couldn’t stop herself from whittling God down to a few frustratingly distant, cold platitudes as she tried desperately to please him, to be the best Christian woman she could be. And I love the me I am now. I may not be perfect, but my life as a general rule (these last few weeks notwithstanding) is not ruled by dread. I know who I am and what I want and I can stand, uncringing, for both. I have a real life for which I am accountable. And this job is part of it. I may be ready for a change, but I can wake up every morning, and get ready in my beautiful vanity, and drive in my lovely, reliable car to a job I know well and can do. I earn a paycheck that maintains my model-beautiful home. This is a real life and I stride into it every day knowing exactly who I am, even on those days when I’m bent over with stress. Such lessons I have learned in the intervening five years since these entries, and some of the most important of them I have learned at my job. And I was gripped with such a gratitude! A gratitude for this good, real life. I went for my run, straight for the night-lit water as on every other night, and everything looked different to me. I was a little star-struck by my peace and happiness. And I came home and thought if I just knew I had the job, I could do this teaching thing for longer than the two weeks’ notice I was begrudgingly ready to give. And I got dressed today in very sharp clothes and accessories, standing tall, and ready for my day.

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So it is not incomprehensible that when I got the news this afternoon that I in fact did not get the job, I was, beneath the shock and crushing disappointment, confused. How could this have happened? Was last night not evidence that I had more perfectly aligned myself with the Secret? Had I not finally unlocked the full measure of gratitude within my heart for a life I had struggled to find worthy anymore? Was I not in the most serendipitous place in my life for lightning to strike? How could everything have fallen apart? I felt so stupid, so foolish for all the measures I had taken to draw TowneBank to me, even as I knew all the way through me that it was not all for naught. But how was I to pick up these pieces? It seemed to me that just when I had found a way to go on, the rug had been pulled out from under me, and that it had been happening like that so many times since I had decided I wanted to leave this job.

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Then Dad invited me out for a Daddy-Daughter dinner to share some “thoughts” he had on the subject since he heard the news, I agreed but I thought, oh, please don’t let his thoughts be a new game plan, some tips on my forthcoming job search. Let the burn ease first! I drove home and as soon as I got in the car, let the tears flow. Groaning sobs that curled me over the steering wheel. I still don’t quite know how I managed to avoid a wreck. But what a found interesting as the tears fell and slowly subsided was that I wasn’t wallowing. I was ready for whenever I was done with them so I could get back on track. I thought, let’s be done with these tears before the commute ends so I don’t have to cry all over Dad again. I knew I had to cry, but I was going to recover as soon as I could so I could resume drawing the life I wanted to me. I wasn’t sure what that would look like now that this thing I had been counting on so desperately had splintered away, but I was going to figure it out. And when Dad showed up at my door, I was remarkably composed.

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The thoughts he shared with me were nothing like I expected. Rather than brainstorming with me on a new game plan, he showed that he had been considering the patterns in this whole life of mine that is unfolding. He believed that the timing of all this was too close to be coincidental. I hadn’t even gotten near the point of considering the timing. He pointed out that the next business day after deciding that It’s Just Lunch was a sign, I get news that TowneBank doesn’t want me. His interpretation of that is that I have already decided what I really want, and it’s not an outside job. It’s not TowneBank. And I had to admit I didn’t want TowneBank for its own sake. I wanted it as an escape from this job and as a sort of placeholder until my real life started, that real life being my roles as a wife and mother. And Dad thought that maybe it was really the universe bringing me what I want. The management training program was going to run 15 or 16 months before segueing into the actual management position for which I will have been training. And learning not only a new job but a new profession would have necessarily taken my focus from what I really wanted. I had thought this before but had been so desperate to get out of my current situation that I couldn’t let that influence me. But I thought back while I was talking with Dad on all those times I never put into words when I thought on the commitment I was ready to give to TownBank’s training program. And every time I thought of it, I thought to myself of all those months, will I have to wait that long to be home with my family? I didn’t want to wait two years for that dream. Through our conversation, I came to realize Dad was right. Wisdom was dripping form his lips.

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And that threw a whole new light, a refreshed perspective, on last night’s revelation. Yes, I did come into a more perfect alignment with the universe by finally feeling the gratitude for the life and job I have. And yes, that did yield some benefits to my pursuit of my dream: after all these months of waiting with no word, it was as if the next step was waiting for me to decide on It’s Just Lunch and to feel truly grateful for this life. As soon as I did, my dream got another jumpstart. And now, I am even happier and more at peace than I was last night or this morning. My friends won’t know what to make of it! They were quietly commiserating with me this afternoon and now I’ll be walking in with a smile on my face and dawning love in my heart.

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My life is coming!

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And I won’t have to put in my résumé for it.