Parked cars and possibilities

 There are a collection of cars parked up and down main street. This morning's radio warning grounded them in their non-resident spaces; No Travel Advised.

As I wander around my apartment, wondering what to write and where to work and how I'll make any money, I find myself wishing there were a 411 travel advisory for our lives... something that said "Wait! Not now. Make that career change in 3 months and you will have clear roads and sunshine all the way."

No such luck, though. We're left navigating the pot-hole riddled roads of life on our own. It seems scary, even a little sad to wander out there in the world with not so much as a hand-drawn napkin-map to guide us. It is scary. But it's fun too.

Not so long ago I quit my job to start a business with a couple of my friends. When I staunchly disagreed with the direction the business was taking, I turned over management functions to one of the other partners. Now I stand, facing a wide array of possible paths, wringing my hands and wishing I could see over the first few hills. 

In the midst of some spiritual re-centering though, I have been reminded of the value of perspective. 

I am not lost.

I am simply standing at the intersection, with it's wide array of choices, and smiling.

There is no wrong way. I won't be pulled over for speeding (Ok, I might, but it won't be too scary) or driven into a ditch by a semi-trailer.

I have to stop myself, and look at the glasses I've put on. 

Often, when I travel to a new place alone, and my heart begins to flutter with the beginnings of panic because I don't know where I am, or - worse yet - where I am going, I remind myself (often out loud) that I will be fine. I have a full tank of gas, a map and a cell phone. Even if I didn't have those things I would be fine. I have a little money to buy some groceries and find a place to stay. Even if I didn't have THOSE things, I would still be fine. I have the ability to work, and a great attitude. 

No matter what, there will always be the possibility of being lost on this road we call life. Maybe the getting lost is the best part of the adventure. Maybe we're never really lost, we're just picking up extra knowledge along the way so we can handle what's coming next. Maybe the intersection is the most important part because we get to pick a possibility, and walk that way - at least for awhile. (You can always change your mind and cut through the ditch.)

What if I got in my car and drove off anyway? It's just an advisory.