I often wonder why life throws us such curveballs. This isn't how my life was supposed to be, I know it. Somewhere I went dreadfully wrong. I was supposed to be published by now. Instead, I put down my pen, and pretty much lost it for eight years. Eight years without writing! There was a time in my life when I could not go but a few hours without writing something, anything. Even random rambling things like this, at least it was writing. I was supposed to have a family by now, a couple of children and a loving husband. Instead, I have one beautiful son, and an ex-husband and a wounded heart. What have I done to deserve such failings? I wanted to have a job that I loved, and now I am unemployed for reasons that I cannot fathom. I was a hard worker, and that counted for nothing. My life is in shambles, and I have no idea what my next step will be.
Part of me believes that there is a plan for us. Destiny, perhaps, would be a better idea than a hapless existence. I want to believe in destiny. I want to believe that there is something guiding us, driving us to utilize our full potential. What is potential if destiny is fictional? Does potential exist if there is not a grander schematic? I have a hard time believing that how I live my life now is how it's going to be for the rest of my life. I refuse to accept that. There must be something more. I want happiness, perhaps more than anything. Success would be nice, along with a comfortable living, but I would gladly forsake those things as long as I could just live happily. By living happily, I believe this entails having a family who cares about me, and surrounding me with people who stimulate my thought processes. I have this strange notion that the only thing a person leaves behind in this world that matters is their offspring, or people that they have impressed themselves upon. I could die penniless, without success in anything, but happy, if I knew that my children were of strong character and sound mind. That is because the fact of the matter is, anything I write, will eventually fade away. Anything I create will eventually decay. I will be forgotten by all, but my memory might carry on, if not my DNA, if I am a good parent. My children (or child, at this point) will remember me, and perhaps pass on some of my teachings to his children, or people he knows. I know my parents have. I hope that my children hold me in the regard that my siblings and I hold our parents.
Life is strange. I cannot continue to lament my dreams. Granted, my life is not what I thought it would be. I am unemployed. I am divorced. Maybe destiny does exist. Perhaps everything happens for a reason. I am writing again, and I have something in my life so many dream of. Sometimes life gets me in a funk. I just need to remember when it does, that I have love, and destiny is propelled by love. Love drives people on, and inspires. I will write, and I will love. That is what my life has always been about, and what will always be.
