Footprints in My Coffee: Ramblings On Life

Being an adult is probably one of the most bizarre and perplexing experiences I’ve had the honor and horror to experience in my exceedingly long yet incredibly brief life. Being a child was strange enough, but adulthood is beyond any of the wildest and most complex dreams (or nightmares) I’ve ever had. 

When I was a child, I questioned who I was, who I would become. I tried to fit in, and usually failed. I stuck out as much as my knobby knees turned in towards each other-- which, is to say, quite a bit. I was awkward, gangly, bushy-haired (and then goopy-with-gel-haiired, and then heat-damaged-but-cute haired), and massively and aggressively passionate about my beliefs. I was loyal to a fault, timid as a mouse, and painfully sarcastic for a child. But, I was a child, and I thought like a child. And like a child,, I often imagined myself as an adult in the extremely far-away future. I dreamt I’d lose the awkward lankiness and become a curvy vixen of the art world, working in the studios that created my childhood favorite films. I dreamt of wild success and, ironically, needing glasses. If manifestation were real, I think I’d kick myself for that one. (She typed as she adjusted her glasses on her nose.) My dreams were fairly pragmatic and fully possible, but they always lacked the harsh edges of reality, no matter how realistic I tried to dream. Perhaps it was for the best, because if my innocent mind could have fully conjured up imagery of the life that would play out for me as an adult, I don’t think her little heart could bear it. 

Now that I am well seasoned in adulthood (at least by my measures), and I have experienced immense joy and many losses, triumphant victories and bitter defeats, I still count it all joy-- but I do so while acknowledging the mounds of darkness that each of us leaves in our wake as we navigate this rugged, beautiful life. Each and every one of us faces their own personalized struggles, whether we live to be one or one-hundred. It’s how we weather each storm we face that shapes us into who and what we become as we continue to grow, be broken, repair, rebuild, repeat. 

This endless roller coaster tends to surprise me from time to time, despite being a passenger for nearly thirty years. Every time I settle into a new, uncomfortable new loop-de-loop of responsibilities, hardships, and sweet little wins, it seems that life takes a new and often-times jarring new turn. Sometimes it’s a delightful rise up the slope of a meadow, sprinkled with the flowers of fresh babies and good friendships, and other times it’s a drop of death into the pits of divorce, financial ruin, and even death. But with every rise and fall, I lift my arms high above my head and laugh mirthfully, because to be on the ride a second longer is to live a moment more, to have another chance to reach my dreams, another minute to kiss my children’s warm faces, another day to cry on the shoulder of a loved one, get lost in a good book, dance in the rain, pray with eyes still blurry from sleep, laugh until tears run down my face, sit in the quiet of the night, pondering this wonderful and painful life I’ve lived while I listen to the soft snores that I can no longer sleep without. 

While I never once imagined that my life would be where it is now, where baby showers make me surprisingly sad but new life and new love fills my heart with a hopeful joy I can’t begin to describe, I wouldn’t trade a single moment of the journey that dragged, carried, pulled, and pushed me here. Every moment shaped me, for better or for worse, and that can be said for each of us. Our choices, the people we connected to along the way, the rise and fall of our faith, our hope, our resolve, has brought each of us to where we are and will continue to guide us to our next destination, our next phase, our next season. 

While I sometimes wistfully remember the dream life I had planned for myself, I find myself endlessly and profoundly grateful for the life that He planned out for me instead. 

And so, I raise my glass (it’s a mug of lukewarm coffee I need to warm up) to this peculiar and challenging life I’ve come to cherish, and I whisper a “thank you” to the Big Man Upstairs for riding this roller coaster alongside me, always reminding me that He was the one who built it, and while it may be scary (maybe even heart attack inducing), I have nothing to fear, because even with every twist, turn, and gut-wrenching drop, I will not fall. 

And neither will you.