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It’s now been two and a half months since Jack (my dog) and I moved to Miami Beach, FL.  I like it here – and Jack seems to really enjoy it, too.  

But, for all intents and purposes – I must admit: 

Moving here was one of the more difficult things I’ve ever had to do.

In Texas, I had a home, my own yard, a romantic relationship, lots of fun things I liked to do and great friends.  The idea of starting over in a new place was so incredibly daunting to me – I didn’t see where I’d find the strength to do it.  And, honestly, I was fearful.  Blame it on watching one too many episodes of CSI: Miami – but, my mind would immediately jump to the dangers of being on my own in such a large city.  But, work called – and I really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.  I felt afraid – backed into a corner – without any options.

I would constantly beat myself up, saying things in my head like, “When you were younger, you were so much more adventurous – what’s the deal?  Why are you so scared to move, again?”  After all, I had moved to London – on my own – when I was 22.  But, I think there’s something innate about growing up – and resisting change.  Like we start to establish roots in one place, and then we’re afraid that if we’re transplanted, we’ll shrivel and die.

I expected the worst – and that made moving all that much more scary.

I kept asking myself, “Where’s your sense of adventure?  Your courage?  Why are you so fearful, now?”  But, looking back, now, I see that courage is so much more than a lack of fear.  Courage is having fear – but, pushing past it and doing what you’re afraid of, anyway.  Breaking through your own self-doubt – and stepping forward in faith.  So, I’m much gentler to myself, mentally, nowadays – and I’m quite proud that once again – I’ve lived through “starting over” – and have found some semblance of happiness on the other side.

I’m 29, and I always assumed I’d have my own family by now.  I envisioned a life somewhere deep in the south, with a home, a dog, a loving (and doting) husband, etc….etc.

My life is a far cry from that dream, right now.  And, yes – my heart does ache for that.  I think it’s only natural that I want to belong to someone – someplace.  I, too, want to feel as though my life is a positive contribution to this world.  And, being a wife and mother is so often what we equate to being a successful woman.  By leaving Texas, I felt that I was moving myself further from that end – and that’s what made me cry.  That’s what made me fearful.  

But, I’m slowly making peace with the fact that I’m “not where I thought I’d be”.  And, I’m starting to understand that perhaps “that” life isn’t what God intended for me.  Maybe I’m not meant to be a wife or a mother – maybe I’m just meant to be a worker, a writer, a dog-owner, a sister, and a good friend.  At least, it seems that’s all I’m meant to be right now.  And, really – I’m okay with that – because it takes all the energy and focus I have to manage those things.

So, I float my little boat out on the ocean of life – and I keep looking for my island to appear on the horizon – the one that sings to my heart “you belong here”.  And, faithfully, I believe that if I keep pushing past the fear – something joyous and beautiful awaits just beyond where the ocean meets the sky.