I have a new house in a new city 600 miles away, but my old life keeps colliding with my new life in the strangest of ways, leaving painful little ripples skating across my heart. I drive a new car yet I see my old van everywhere. I know it’s not my actual van because she now lives at grandma and grandpa’s house. But still, I see the make and model nearly every day and it’s odd because it’s not a common one. In fact, I just saw one for sale on the neighbors drive this morning. Collision. I went to give my address the other day and gave the old one even though I haven’t lived there since late August. Hmm. Must be muscle memory. Collision. It’s already reaching 70° here some afternoons and as I stood staring into my closet yesterday, I couldn’t help but laugh. I spent most of last spring (and a lot of time and resources) building a professional wardrobe for Indiana and none of it, not one piece, has been unpacked because it’s not been needed here. Collision. And it hasn’t escaped my notice that I barely have anything to wear for what is shaping up to be an inferno spring and summer here. Collision. This morning we had our first tornado warning and I was lost as the radio announcer mentioned towns in the path. “Nine miles away heading Northeast at 45 miles per hour.” I knew that was my direction and I rerouted my path away from errands and toward home but I couldn’t pinpoint any of the small towns he rattled off. Growing up in Indianapolis means I know the city (and many places within the state) like the back of my hand. Here? It feels like it’s just been in the last month that I can get to the gas station without using GPS. If I’m going to survive spring storm season it’s obvious I’m going to have to study the map a bit. Collision. My husband asked me what I wanted to do for my 50th birthday and without thinking I said I wanted to go to breakfast with my folks then get some friends together for dinner and cards. Then I remembered that I’m not there. I’m here. Collision.
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| Water drop collision |
I have a precious bestie who calls it Fabulous Fifty. Or does she call it Fearless Fifty? I have no doubt fifty will be fearless because this adventure won’t allow for anything less. Sunday is barreling down on me like a runaway freight train and it’s a wicked reminder that the only way through is forward. God is opening doors and placing amazing new people and opportunities in my path and for that I’m extremely grateful. And I’m stepping up with anticipation and hope. But I also have no doubt that fifty won’t be fabulous because of the biggest collision of all--missing so many of you.
