While trying to pick up some of the world's greatest cupcakes this afternoon, I instead found myself stuck in miserably slow moving traffic. And that was the good part of my midday misadventure.
After a few miles of inching along Interstate 75, obnoxious orange signs sent me on a painful detour through an obscure part of downtown. A detour I was very, very disheartened by.
To be perfectly clear I did not suffer physical harm veering right into what I believe was Field Street. No, the discomfort of this particular detour was entirely psychological.
See.... once upon a time not SOOOO long ago, I went down that same street as part of a grand adventure. For all practical purposes being there again should have been a nice reminder of a very fun time.
But the heart is not always practical to say the least. So instead of smiling through the odd twist toward Memory Lane, I found myself instead grimacing and praying the pain would end soon. Praying that and for the giant orange truck to hurry up and pick a lane already.
You see, thanks to what I'm fairly certain could be considered slightly unresolved issues, looping around that particular juncture didn't feel like at all like a reminder of an old friend. It didn't feel like a fortunate and temporary case of environmentally-induced nostalgia.
It felt more like being brutally attacked, by a massive sea creature in fact. A really ugly, terrifying manatee if you want to know the truth.
And yes! That might be an awful a slight exaggeration, not to mention an incredibly bizarre mental image. But it did hurt a LOT being there today, particularly considering how hard I've avoided making that very turn.
That's life for ya though. I truly think the harder you try to move forward, the more likely you'll face signs that say "Turn Back." And maybe people stronger than me find ways to push forward in spite of 'em. Maybe they don't get derailed for a second. Maybe they continue making good time.
But as today's backtracking so aptly demonstrated, I do. I see those signs as a major setback, and I follow them right into a trap - the kind of trap that makes me want to chew off my own ankle if it means escaping without added emotional pain.
I did NOT chew off my ankle though. I sulked in my chains instead.
If it weren't so frikun' frustrating I'd be able to note the irony of it all... that just as I'm heading forward life's curves literally lead me back to where my most recent growing pangs began.
But seriously, I can't be expected to enjoy the benefits of hindsight when I'm stalled out and staring directly at my past, can I? Not when it shows up on my dashboard instead of the rearview mirror?
Eventually that literal detour led me right where I wanted it to... to my favorite overpriced cupcake boutique in DFW.
It led to cream cheese iced happiness in a neatly wrapped cardboard box.
But it definitely didn't get me there the way I had planned. Or as quickly. Or as painlessly as I would have preferred.
And now that I've arrived safely back in Waco, I can't help wondering if this little adventure I find myself on now - the one where I reside in a one bedroom apartment in a land my friend has so kindly dubbed "the ghetto" - if maybe this is like a little life detour. The kind I might not have picked for myself, might not enjoy all the time, but one that ultimately is necessary to get me where I'm going.
I wish, I WISH there were signs to literally point out the way from here. I WISH there were billboards proclaiming how to reach the red velvet cake with the Sprinkles on top.
But if this weekend has taught me anything, it's that billboards aren't always the answer. And that road signs, while practical, can be painful too.
The only surefire hope then, is trusting in something much bigger than signs; it's Someone more reliable than a roadmap and Someone more steady than my emotions.
Detours or not, there's only one real Way to get where I'm going. And for now I suppose that's enough comfort to keep me driving on.
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