The Life of a Leaf

In high school, one of my teachers observed that most people she knew were either leaves floating idly along the river of life or motorboats with speed, direction, and purpose. I used to think that was a motorboat, but I was wrong. I'm a leaf.

Tonight, my kids and I were going through some photo albums, and a realization hit me. Most of my life, so many of my favorite memories are just products of chance. Jobs that I've taken, places I've visited, people I've met... They've all been strange, random twists of fate.

I recall that I had a plan once long ago, but it was derailed, and I never bothered to make a new one. Since Baby #3 was born, I don't think I've ever been able to stick to a plan that extended later than dinnertime.

My husband -- I met him through a bizarre chance of fate. He didn't even live in the same city, but his mother and I worked at the same school. He was there to visit her, and I bumped into them in the teacher's lounge because I was changing to go running. That may sound pretty normal, but I never run. Never. Ever. Not for fires, not for shoe sales, not for anything... I was on a train in Paris once when we got a bomb threat. Sirens were blaring; the gendarme were whizzing through the cars to evacuate us. I didn't even break into a trot. What in the world possessed me to go running that day, that one day of the year that I would meet him? Any other day, I would've hopped into my car parked near my classroom and missed him altogether. As I recall, I didn't even like him at the moment, but here we are, nearly two decades later.

Those oft-quoted lines from Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" come to mind:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Most people infer that the road less traveled is the superior one, but I'm not so sure. Sometimes, I think that's just an elegant way to say "I've made a hu-u-u-u-u-ge mistake."

My father has wisely stated, "A lot of things could've been, but I don't bother thinking about them because there's no point." Sadly, I lack his placid temperament, and I often wonder what life might have been if I'd stuck to a definite plan. Easier? More focused? More profitable? For sure, I'd be doing something more productive than posting blog entries between bouts of ring-around-the-rosies.

On the other hand, if I'd been more goal-oriented, I'd have missed out on some of the best memories I have, like karaoke-singing on the Champs Elysees and "The Lebanese Detective" (that's another post maybe). Heck, two of my children were complete surprises, and I can't imagine life without them.  These memories, these people that have come in and out of my life -- a motorboat would've missed them, but they really are the details that make all the difference.

The Stars by Night

Several years ago, I found an amazing site called ted.com. It's full of "riveting talks by remarkable people, free to the world." I'm so pleased that TED now has an iPhone/iPod app and that some of the talks are even available on Netflix!

Today, I watched a TED talk called John Lloyd Inventories the Invisible. John Lloyd is a British comedy writer, TV director and producer. (BTW, he is responsible for producing all four seasons of Blackadder, one of my all-time favorite shows.) I highly recommend checking out his talk; however, here are two quotes that really intrigued me.

"Galaxies? Hundred billion of them estimated in the universe. A hundred billion! How many of them can we see? Five. Five out of the hundred billion we can see with the naked eye. And one of them's quite difficult to see unless you've got very good eyesight."

"The stars by day. I always think that's fascinating. The universe disappears. The more light there is, the less you can see."

I think I was drawn to these words because they express a lot of what I've been feeling the lately.

Two months ago, I would've said that my life was pretty clear. We were following a nice, comfortable routine. I knew what I'd be doing every day of the week. Our schedule was kind of dull, but it was familiar, predictable, manageable. However, in the last few weeks, everything has been turned topsy-turvy. I've gone from seeing clearly to being in the dark.

Last month my husband interviewed for a job in another state. Should he take it, we would have to move. The company has already indicated that an offer is coming, but because they are onboarding close to a hundred people, they're backlogged. As a result, we will probably have to wait a couple more weeks to see what it is.

We don't even know whether we'll take the offer when it finally does come. In the meantime, though, everything has become hazy and uncertain. This lack of clarity has affected everything from the way I approach the house, the children's schooling, the activities I commit to, even (unfortunately) at times my temper toward my husband.

While the uncertainty has a discombobulating effect, I feel it's also given me a glimpse into a bigger universe. Who knows? We may decline the offer in the end, but right now, we're enjoying daydreaming about something new and different. It's kind of exciting to live not in the now, but in the potential. Once we decide one way or another, all that -- the options, the opportunities -- will dim out one by one. But for the moment, here in the dark, there are still choices and possibilities. There are still stars to wish on.