Tuesday, January 3


Over the years, I have somewhat identified with Carrie Bradshaw. I identify with a woman who moves to the city in search of something more. I identify with a woman who lets words and ideas spill out of her mind, regardless of the audience actually listening. I have been enamored with a great pair of shoes and have been in search of a big outfit for the big occasions. I have changed looks, mostly my hair, hoping for complete transformation. And I have been through the three-ring circus of boyfriends and relationships. More recently however, I have identified with the Carrie in a Mexi-coma. I feel like a death has happened. Permanent, black bags have settled in beneath my used to be sparkling brown eyes, sleep seems more appetizing than tacos, and an escape is most desirable.
That means time for a change. It is getting impossible to live in this coma, to be kicking and screaming in a struggle so tough. Most people view this forest as a simple speed bump, a swerve in the road, and something that can be easily changed. Change is so distant and mystifying at this place. A wave of a wand, a quiet prayer, or even a self-help book should be the answer, right?
Wrong. Each day presents a new fortress, a new obstacle course, a new test. New questions and fears peer around each corner, threatening what I learned the day before.
So I’m left with a decision to make. Where will my focus lie? Where will I allow my days to lead me?
A new city will only provide excitement until it isn’t exciting anymore.  A pair of stellar heels will only make you feel confident for the time you’re wearing them. A great book or a good pizza will only provide comfort for a brief time. Even a great man, boyfriend or husband can fill in a few missing pieces of your life. But the bigger void is what needs reconciled, comforted and spoken to consistently.
Conclusion? Carrie Bradshaw wrote about finding love, and so will I.
Not like a resolution, or a new beginning goal, more of a lifelong pursuit to heal the present wounds and the wounds to come.  I will search and read and pray and listen. I’ll look for the little things in daily life that remind me of a bigger love, and I’ll wait for the bigger things to happen. And I’ll write these things down. Mostly for me, to acknowledge and remember them, but also for the people in need of bigger love, though they may not be aware of it or may not be able to say it.
I’ll write about finding God’s love rather than continuing to look for something to make me feel love that quickly fades and wilts away. I’ll look for your pictures and quotes and words of help. I’ll take time to watch the sunrise in the morning and to notice the way the wind blows in the new seasons. I’ll even consider changing my title to ‘Love and the City’, because dancing and singing are a little too hard to do.
And even though New York appears more beautiful and fun today, I’ll remember that I am where I am for a specific purpose, and my story is already something beautiful. And when I’ve made it through the forest, I’ll write about the new joy and peace I’ve found.

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