Feb, 2015

I Didn’t Get Where I Was Going

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I Didn’t Get Where I Was Going

That’s one of my own personal little phrases. It’s not about a physical location, but rather a mental one. What I mean when I say this phrase is that I didn’t get anything done that I had planned to do.

I didn’t get where I was going this weekend.

I started Friday evening headed in the direction of productivity and completion. I made a list in one of my cute notebooks with my favorite blue marker using my best penmanship. I put perfectly aligned dots behind each number before listing the task. The L in the word laundry was straight as an arrow, the O in the task, organize the bedroom, was perfect, not too fat, not too thin. The list was a work of art in itself and continued with tasks like research for an article I wanted to write, doodle some ideas for a picture I wanted to draw and make a flowchart for random photos I wanted to take.

I didn’t get where I was going this weekend.

Where did I go? I bypassed researching to listen and grieve with a friend who had an unexpected tragedy in her family. Later in the day she shared with me her gratitude. I shuffled to the garage for a shovel and cleared snow so that our steps and sidewalk would be clean for my husband to leave the house for dialysis. When I was done, he thanked me and said the clean path would make his trip out much easier. I detoured from my perfect list and made a trip to the grocery store to pick up medications with a dear friend. We had a wonderful visit and it made the gloomy winter day brighter. Back home, I approached the cute notebook, only to have to turn away. My husband was feeling under the weather and needed help. After straightening blankets and getting water, he asked me to sit with him longer. He listened as I prattled on and on about my new writing opportunity. He squeezed my hand and encouraged my excitement.

As dusk fell, my beautifully penned task list sat silent and void of checkmarks in the cute notebook with my favorite blue marker still snuggled in the coil spine.

I went to take a shower only to discover that because I had not started any laundry, I had no clean pajamas. I stomped to the basement and dug through a pile of not too dirty clothes and pulled out a rumpled, but passable purple pair. I heard a small clink on the cold cement floor. It was a ring, the one my mother had given me before her death, the one I had lost a week ago. My unproductive and under completed weekend ended with tears of joy, the love of friendship, and the coolest conversation I’ve had for a while with my husband.

No, I didn’t get where I was going, but where I did arrive, was even better.

Where did you go this weekend?


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