Thursday, February 20, 2014

east of eden, south of home

"That's a smell could raise me out of a concrete grave."

"Adam Trask wasn't always right, but he was right in this," she thought, as she made herself a second cup of coffee. Given space and time - real time - to think, she wondered. Left to her own devices, she doubted herself, her choices, her intentions.

She'd been going going going, barely stopping. For years. For years, that's all she'd done.
On to the next thing, the next place, the next adventure. Maybe it was in her blood. Maybe that's all she'd known.
And she found herself there again. In a new place, a new city, a new way the air treated her skin.
A new and renewed way she saw herself and her life.

So many questions floating around in her head about what will be and what could be and what would be and what exactly it is that she'll regret in the long run. What she really wanted out of her story.

Maybe it is in her blood. That drive. That pursuit of something else, something new, something that will take her to the next best moment.

But she is not her past.
She is not what is in her blood.
She does, in fact, have the option to be something all of her own choosing.
She has the choice to make her story what she wants it to be, the responsibility, in fact. To leave behind a legacy that her children will cling to, a legacy of freedom, of reveling in the magic of personal choice.

"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good. Is that it?"
"I guess so. Maybe that's it."

She has the choice
the way is open

Her success is writing the story she wants to write. The story that's true for her. 

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