The road less traveled

I did not write yesterday.

Well, not in my journal. But God knows, I’ve been writing and working ...

 And I read: some of Mary Sojourner’s book. I’d thought it was non-fiction, but it’s not. It’s a collection of short stories, but so tangible they might as well be fact. About women our age, my age, who find themselves at this both sturdy and fragile time of life, wondering where they are and how they got there. Like a turn on a highway that lands you somewhere so distant and unfamiliar from where you thought you were going, you blink in disbelief. But no matter how vigorously you rub your eyes, it’s still the same. There you are.

 I felt that way once. Woke up and thought, “This is not your life. This is a chapter out of someone else’s book.”

 And although now I’m not exactly sure what road I’m on and where it is taking me; I feel certain it is my road. And so I carry on.