Tuesday, March 4, 2014


Mine is a life in transition these days, something that feels simultaneously like a blessing and a curse.
The blessing is that opportunities abound.  I ponder possibilities, and options fall into my lap.  Friends and family remind me that I am not alone.  Colleagues lend a hand.  And in quiet moments, I remember that I have survived quite a bit in my forty years on this planet, each time finding greater peace, each time learning and growing.
The curse is that some days I’d like to be done learning and growing already.  I’d like to be done with heartache and loss, no matter how much character they may build.  I recently informed the universe that I’ve got enough goddamn character; stop working on me, please!  (I believe it’s possible the universe had the volume turned too high on her iPod at that moment…)
One of the happier transitions taking place in my life right now is a career move I’ve dreamed of for ages.  I am building my reputation as a writer of fiction, and I am making the shift to writing as my full-time job.  This is something I find so exciting, I often want to rush it, the way children want Christmas to hurry up and happen, even if it’s only July.  I’m in such a hurry, in fact, that I sometimes forget what a blessing my current occupation is - and has been for over twenty-five years, ever since my father taught me the trade of real estate title examination.
Today I met with an attorney to review some work I’d done for him on a particularly nasty real estate title. When he realized I was Albert Knight Antonio’s daughter, he said, “Well, that explains why your work is so meticulous.” He went on to say that my father was his “very best friend in the business,” that he misses him daily since his sudden passing in 2011, and that he’s saved their email correspondence and refers to it often for guidance.
I left that office with my heart soaring. A tedious piece of title work resulted in a blessing. What better life lesson could I have asked for today? 
And so, while I am eager as ever to move into the next phase of my life, I find myself reminded that sometimes even tedium is a gift.  Maybe heartache is, too.  Maybe a life well-lived inherently involves pain, for while we are meant to grow and change, isn’t it lovely to know that anything we’ve spent our time on - or anyone we’ve spent our time with - meant enough to leave a mark on our soul and a tear on our cheek?
{The journey is the destination.}

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