The only constant is change...

The last time I remember opening my computer to write was Mother's day, but I never made it here. I ended up logging on to my college website, and somehow, as if my fingers were doing the walking, I ending up on the page for the Occupational Therapy program. Reading about the field ignited something in my heart, like someone turned on the lights after a few years of darkness.

Although for as long as I could remember, my emphasis has been nursing, it just stopped feeling like the right fit. I couldn't tell if I was having a change of heart, or I was weary from how difficult the classes are, and how competitive the field is. Bottom line, I wasn't excited anymore, and it's really hard to stay motivated when you aren't excited about the end result. So I decided to take a semester off and do some soul searching. Come Mother's day, I had no answers and I was feeling like I'd never make myself go back. Basically, I was feeling like a huge failure. I was 40 and I just dropped out of college.

In reality, I had only taken one semester off, after going every term (including summers) since 2011. It was just enough time to watch the entire friend's series on Netflix. And even though my break left me feeling empty, it brought me to a pivotal moment when I had to ask myself why I wasn't excited about school anymore. Turns out, the last 4 months had been full of tiny moments of revelation, I just hadn't pieced them together yet. For example, I'd be dry-heaving at work while cleaning the bathroom, I'd think to myself, do I want to clean people? Can I handle these smells? Or a crazy homeless person would come in spewing and swearing, oh gosh...I don't want to deal with this, I respect those who can handle it, but I don't think I can. Or how with getting older, my sleep cycle has changed and I'm not sure I could be coherent after a 12 hour nursing shift. 

There were a hundred moments of inner dialogue, and once I put them together, I whispered to myself, on Mother's day morning, I don't want to be a nurse anymore. 

With that came such relief. I hadn't quit, I had only changed. 

So by opening my computer to write about how disappointed I was for being a quitter and a loser, I found myself looking at a page with the most perfect career description I had ever seen. And what came next, as I observed an OT session as a part of the application process, was one of the most amazing and precious things I had ever seen. I will dare to say it was just as profound as seeing a birth. Maybe one day I'll be able to write about it. 

I must say, y'all, the Lord moves in mysterious ways.

Nancy James Martin Stetson Carroll, darling.

Aka my Memaw. My great love.

Every time I'd visit her cottage by the sea, she'd have a mile-high stack of library books stowed on the bench in her kitchen. Yet the only book she ever told me to read was "Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood." I think she was trying to tell me something, but I never figured out what it was.

My favorite quote from the book, and kinda the anthem of my life, is, "We wear headdresses of the queens who have gone before us. Who ask us to carry on their magic."

I've been waiting to stop missing her, but it just hasn't happened yet.

I've been trying to carry on her magic, but I pale in comparison.

Oh, ho ho, it's magic.

Recently, I've reconnected with a long-lost friend.
The lost part was completely my doing as I checked out for a while. When I gathered the courage to make amends, she was gracious and forgiving. In fact, she has always been a fortress of grace, and she challenges me to be the same.

What has caught me by surprise the most is how quickly we found our former rhythm. The flow of conversation, which weaves between decades and back-stories, history and hopes for the future. Some might call it bunny trails, and maybe get lost in the flow. But for me, it's like a dance. A dance of friendship that spans over 2 decades, 6 pregnancies, countless ups and downs of life.
I look at her and she just knows, and vise-versa.

I'm sad for the years I missed, but it somehow makes it better because with absence came knowing that what we have is magic. Our friendship could never be replicated or replaced. It is patient for the seasons of life. It is not dependent, but giving.
I love us. I love our families that have grown and changed. Our tiny babies that used to nurse 24/7 are now taller than us, more beautiful than us, funnier than us.
We are so different, but tonight when we sat around the table there was a certain feeling of destiny.
We are bonded for life, together forever, and it's magic.