Last Monday I made a firm decision. I distinctly remember making that decision, being convinced with every fibre of my body that this was the correct path to take. I was driving into work and called Hubby on my cell phone to relay the decision.
Hubby was supportive.
By Tuesday morning I had changed my mind.
Hubby was, as usual, supportive.
On Wednesday and Thursday I looked around and appreciated the wisdom of my decision. Heck even CBC radio was talking about how 80 percent of the population agreed with me.
Hubby agreed with me too.
By Friday morning I’d changed my mind back again. Looks like I’m in that 20 percent. Actually, I wasn’t even that, I was in my own category of making my own rules, and cutting off things that aren’t important to me. Hubby agreed with me too. Again.
And we even made a plan to follow this decision. Yes, we will do it. We made a timeline with steps to take on this decision. People to contact, things to do, places to see.
By Saturday morning I’d changed my mind, again.
Hubby agreed with me and continues to be supportive – which ever way my mind goes.
In my life some decisions were very easy – to get married? You bet, even though I never even thought of it before I got involved with Hubby. But two weeks into the relationship, we both knew this was it. This was for life. We were married a year and a half later. Boom. Decision made.
And we haven’t looked back.
For our honeymoon we went canoeing in Algonquin Park. I remember the return trip and how a rain storm hit us once we were in the middle of large lake. The overcast morning changed quickly. High winds, driving rain. There we were, with all of our gear in the canoe, getting soaked. My little dog was wearing a life jacket, wet and miserable.
Hubby and I crouched wearing raincoats, water running into our eyes. Mist hung over the lake, obscuring landmarks. I bent over the map, fumbling with a compass, trying to reroute us to a more sheltered area. We made a decision – head for the nearest shoreline and wait out the storm.
And that’s what we did. In the drizzle I recalculated our route and we waited. Safe on shore, my dog shook himself, and sniffed around. My little dog marched away from our canoe, anxious to distance himself from his misery. We looked around, and explored an ancient cottage and abandoned garden. A lilac bush was strangely out of place in the Northern Ontario wilderness. This was the place time forgot. Yellow cottage, chipped paint, cracked windows and rambling garden. It was beautiful.
If we would have continued speeding down the middle of the lake we would have never seen it. I’m glad we did – it was a moment from the past that will soon be swallowed up by the wilderness as the forest takes back its own.
Life is like that. Sometimes you make a decision, based on the information you have at the time, only to scramble madly re-calculating your route. Sometimes you need to slow down and appreciate the detours and stop-overs.
The land of special needs is like that.
Some decisions are made for you. You take a detour, and enjoy the view. Because that’s really where life begins – when you let go.