My Perfect Life

Someone once asked me if I thought I was meant to do something great in life. The answer didn't come as quickly as I'd hoped. I supposed the question was meant to prompt a soul-searching journey ending in large revelations. I thought, maybe, the answer could be found in my head; in my memories. Memories of a fast-paced city life where I met friends and important people for martinis at high-prices restaurants before going home to an over-decorated, over-stuffed home filled with flowers and satin sheets. A world where my name appeared on the front page of everyone's newspapers, attached to stories that made people feel...
Happiness.
Love.
Sadness.
Sympathy.
Anger.
Protected.

I made a difference in that life. I was important to my chosen city, to my chosen friends.

I worked to find the answer in my prayers. Asking for guidance, strength and wisdom to find my way to self-assurance. To the self-righteous place where I knew I was doing exactly what I was meant to do. I read the Bible and listened to the preacher-man talk about the Man on the cross. He made people feel, from the pulpit he taught about sacrifice, love, sympathy, courage and honesty. I always envied his pulpit. When will I get my pulpit?

I turned to my family. They are, after all, the people who shaped me. It was their love that raised my heart and taught me to be me. I sat, silently, and watched my mom work. She did nothing for herself. She lived to make sure mouths were fed, backs were clothes, bellies were fed and bed were warm. I look up to her. I wonder if she knows that? My sister has become a mother. No surprise there. She always was in control. My brother has become a protector. No surprise ther either. He always has been driven by his heart. My dad is a man of few works and many thoughts.
Nothing less.
Nothing more.
The answer to my greater purpose doesn't rest in that little home buried deep in small-town America. I began to wonder: if I can't myself at home, then where can I find myself?

I already knew it was impossible to find anything at the bottom of a glass or bottle. No self-assurance lies in the last drag of a cigarette. Lets just leave those vises out of the discussion.

I long, painful stare in the mirror conjures up no answer. Except I am reminded of my lost hours of sleep by the long-gone youthful look that used to be found in my eyes. Oh yea--and my smile.

The oh-so familiar sound of my alarm clock breaks me from my thoughts. I used to able to make that hoise stop by the press of a button. No such luck anymore.
I rise.
Stand up.
Stretch.
One last glance over my shoulder to make sure my knight-in-shining armor is still peaceful in dreamland. I start on a short and routine walk down the hall and end up ina brightly decorated room that has become my favorite place in the world. Just beyong my reach lies a smiling face. A pair of eyes bluer than the deep reaches of the sea.
10 fingers.
10 toes.
and a dirty diaper.

All it takes is one split second. The twinkle in her eye. With diaper duty complete, we take one tiny moment in life to look at each other.

"Good morning, baby," I say.
She grins.
"Lets rock for a second," I say and she rests her head on my shoulder.
A wordless "thank you."

Am I doing what I meant to do?--that was the question, right?

If you look in her eyes, there's no doubt. I've never felt so certain as I did in my home, that morning, in that rocking chair looking at the best version of myself. You won't see my name on your front page when you wake up to read your paper. Y ou won't see me sipping over-priced martinis with important people. I'll never come home to anything over-decorated or over-stuffed and I'll never had my own pulpit.

Someone once asked me if that bothers me. I said, "No. I already have two things no one else can ever take."

1. Madison Haynes
2. Justin Haynes

And if you ask me, I need for nothing.
I hope for nothing more.
I envy for none.
I pray for those with less.