Back in December I was out driving and I got so turned around. It was weird because I wasn’t in unfamiliar territory. I knew the area and I should have known where I was going, but somehow I wound up in an unfamiliar space. I took myself so far out of my way and became so impatient and irritable with myself. Let me be honest and frank. I was pissed. I should have known better and I wasted my time. In reality, it was probably only about 5 minutes, but still! That was 5 minutes I could have been doing something else. Now considering that I was driving, I’m not quite sure what else I could have been doing save for driving. However, in the moment, I knew I could have had the option to do something else besides getting lost in a familiar area.
Well I was in the same area the next day. Of course you know I had visions of previous irritation dancing in my head. I vowed to myself as I was driving that I wouldn’t make the same mistake from the night before. I would pay attention, doggone it. I noticed a detour sign as I was driving my familiar route. It turns out that there was construction underway on the bridge and it was closed until December 12th. That means I would not have been able to go across the bridge–which is where I was trying to go the day before. That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t being derailed. I was being redirected. I may not have known about the bridge closing the day before, but my detour actually prevented me from getting stuck in the crosshairs of the traffic jam that was underway because of the bridge closing. I went from irritation to gratitude. It turns out those 5 minutes really weren’t a waste after all. And my little driving detour is a perfect metaphor for life.
The Universe is constantly working on our behalves, sending us on little detours. So often when we come across a detour we focus on the inconvenience and disappointment of it. We take detours as stop signs, erroneously believing that the presence of a detour means our goals will never come to fruition. We believe a detour is a denial, a setback from which we cannot recover; which further serves as proof that what we are never able to get the things we want to pass. So we stop instead of taking the detour. We change courses completely or just turn around and go back from whence we came. However, the truth is that detours are meant to help us. We cannot see the chaos that lies ahead should we continue on our path, but The Universe can and so it sends us on a detour to help us avoid it all. Keeping with my traffic imagery, let’s consider when we receive GPS or traffic cam updates while we drive. Usually, the traffic reporter is reporting from a helicopter where he or she has an aerial view, which provides a greater perspective. The traffic cam can see all the things you can’t see. So when you’re stuck in the middle lane of gridlock traffic, gritting your teeth and cursing as the road rage courses through your veins you can’t see that there’s an accident 4 miles ahead that is causing the trouble. You can’t see the construction that’s taking place which will absolutely make traffic go smoother in the long run. Often what seems like obstacles to us are not obstacles at all, but mere detours pointing us more efficiently in the right direction. Consider the detours in your life. Were you actually stopped from seeing your dream come true? Or were you simply redirected? The next time you encounter a detour, consider that there may actually be construction on the bridge ahead and the detour is simply redirecting you to help you avoid the chaos.
My sensitivity displayed itself in ways that seemed to get under my father’s skin. One of my worst offenses was that I cried. A lot. Actually I still do. I cried if I was happy. I cried if I was sad. Or mad. I even cried if I saw another in pain. But that was unacceptable for my father. Crying was for punks and I needed to stop crying all of the time. I remember one such episode when I was 9 years old. A boy on my school bus punched me in the eye. While my dad did defend me once he found out, he was also quite upset with me for not fighting the way he thought I should have. He became incredibly upset when he asked me, What did you do after he punched you? only to hear me say in response, I cried. I thought it was a ridiculous question. It hurt. Crying when hurt is a normal response, correct? What was I supposed to do? My father thought it a ridiculous response. Who in the hell cries when they get hurt? Hell naw that ain’t normal! I was supposed to kick the boy’s ass! That’s what I was supposed to do. So he told me that I needed to kick his ass the next day, otherwise he would kick mine. Now to some, this probably seems like a reasonable order from a parent. It certainly was based on my dad’s own upbringing. He was old school. Old school wasn’t about being a punk. Punks jumped up to get beat down, so you best not be a punk. That meant you didn’t let anybody hurt you. If you got hurt, it was your fault. I didn’t know at the time, but for my father that applied to my emotional self as well as my physical self. As far as he was concerned, he was doing it for my own good. He would even lament about how hard it was to raise a daughter because he couldn’t be as hard on me as he wanted to be–certainly not as hard as he could be with a boy. He hated how soft he had to be with me. I, on the other hand, was perplexed as to how he could possibly think he was soft at all.
Putting the CL on that ASS! 
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