If You Don't Know Where You're Going. . .

At 9, I wanted to be a painter, and at 10, an actress. By 16, my aspirations had shifted and I believed I could best contribute to my community by becoming a communist. Just kidding -- I wanted to be a social worker. At 16 1/2, after a conversation with my then brother-in-law during which he counseled me against the profession and did, honestly, cause me to reflect on what I truly wanted, that goal changed as well: I would study law -- fascinating, logical, respected -- and focus on family law, children's welfare. Through the judicial system, I would assist those in need.

Then I went to college. And while not everything changed, everything changed. I entered studying English because succeeding in high school English classes hadn't required much effort and English seemed a solid major for a pre-law student. I had earlier disavowed math (a long, unfortunate story) so chose to study foreign language at BYU as a way of bypassing college mathematics and fulfilling a GE requirement. Since I'd studied French in high school and performed well (pattern here -- ease was my greatest motivator), I enrolled in French 102. And then 201. And 209. . . until I had myself a new major and a passion for French philosophy which, it turned out, wouldn't lead to lucrative employment but would help me accumulate a pretty impressive collection of hard copy musings.

This transition also became the starting point of the sinuous and sometimes awkward path that led me from Utah to California, to France and back. That journey never took me to law school but did lead me to advanced degrees and to babies and to days spent reading anti-bullying books to third graders and discussing rhetoric with college students. It led me to juried writing conferences where my work was lauded by distinguished writers only to be rejected by magazines and publishers later; and, more recently, the path has introduced me to henna tattoos in Dubai and bubble tea in Taiwan. Today it has deposited me in this moment,  at this spot at the wood-stained desk near my favorite picture window, to this blog, this contemplation, this new destination. Twenty years after college, I've finally discovered where I'm going.

They say you're never too old to start over. Thank God for that! Would my trajectory have been easier if I'd chosen "appropriately" in the first place? If I had had the courage and understanding to pursue what I really wanted? If I hadn't changed my major and aspirations yet again as a college Freshman? Probably. But I can finally say, after years of bemoaning my poor academic choices and the fact I never applied to law school, that I don't regret anything. I'm truly excited about the future and am looking forward to the next step.

As a girlfriend of mine used to say before GPS, "We're not lost if we're still moving." Or, to steal a bit of skiing advice from my favorite 80's movie, "Go down [the mountain] really fast. If something gets in your way, turn!"

I've learned to just keep turning. The destination may not be what I anticipated, but with any luck it will be better.

And what about this. . .?