Hey pals, it's your old friend Michele, back from the dead like Lazarus to tell you all how it was on
the other side.
No, I wasn't in the nether, but sometimes it seems like I was stuck someplace for quite a long while. Driving around lost, searching for a familiar landmark to tell me I was headed in the right direction.
I have a very active imagination, which is great, except that sometimes I tell myself a story and the story feels so real that when reality deviates from my plot, I find it difficult to accept. I get sad about things that never really were, and I hold on tight the notion that life isn't going the way it's supposed to go; The way I've imagined it going. It's childish, and I've learned that letting go of all that is a surprisingly wonderful feeling. Like letting your soul take off its pants after a long day.
The familiar landmark never came. I never had that outside validation that I was going the right way. I just had to tell myself a story, and in the story I was found. And in one of those rare occurrences, reality agreed.