|| If Yeh Had Teh Chance to Chenge Yer Fate, Woodjyer? ||

Sitting in a Starbucks.

Get a million texts at once.

All about tying up loose ends in Atlanta. 

Heartbeat quickens.

Brow furrows.

Frown appears.

Shoulders tighten.

This was my every day. 

This is why I left. 

________________________________________________________

I've been thinking lately about waiting awhile before telling people I moved away. Then I realized if I post a picture, say anything about being in Florida, or if anyone from Atlanta asks me to meet up, everyone will find out very soon that I'm not living there any more. So I figured I would tell everyone the best way I know how - write a ridiculous blog post about it and answer all of the expected questions before they're even asked. Boom.

Honestly, it's no one's business why I had to leave. It shouldn't matter and I should be able to say plainly "it wasn't working out" and move on... and most importantly, have the person understand that that's exactly what happened. It didn't work out. No assumptions necessary. I did not get fired. I loved the area. I really liked the people. I really want to move back.

But it didn't work out.

[[Pause. Even as I type this, there is a VERY loud man on a phone sitting right next to me. I have my noise-canceling headphones in trying to listen to Jack Johnson and I can hear almost word-for-word his conversation. (Yo. It's 2015. Screaming into the phone just means you're screaming into the phone and the ear of the person on the other line. They cannot hear you any better. Just... SSSHH.) And I have no reason to be upset. But my anxiety is still on such a Red Alert that this is making me more upset than it needs to. He has every right to be on the phone and loudly smack his defrosted, precooked-egg-and-some-sort-of-fragrant-veggie flat bread sandwich.]]

See? I'm not bitter or lashy-outy.

This is what stress does to me. This is what it means for me to be stressed and anxious. I become robo-bitch and just meander my way through life, waiting for the next awful thing to happen, and then take my frustration out on my poor momma.

When in reality, my life kind of rocks.

My life rocks for many reasons.

I have a loving, comfortable home to come back to. I have an amazing support group behind me literally every single step and obstacle I have faced recently. (Thanks, guys. You know who you are.)

I don't have much of it, but I have money to buy food and clothes. I have what I need.

Life in Atlanta just didn't work out.

Plainly stated? I'm not cut out for a career in personal training. My life sucked when I tried it for a short 7 weeks. Sucked. Eggs. It was awful. I could go into detail about it, but honestly it doesn't matter anymore.

Here's what I learned: 

The stigma of the perfect body is alive and well. And detrimental to people like me.

It's expensive to move. It's expensive to survive.

Working 45 hours a week and waking up at 4:30am can only get you so far in life before you crash.

A few really good people who you connect with is more important than a bunch of people who you get along with on the surface.



So

I changed my path

just like that. 

The immense signs from the universe that a life and career in the fitness industry were clearly received over and over again. So I have decided to follow my heart and not my head for once. 

My head has always said that I love wellness and fitness. And I do. I really do. But I love it for me. I don't love it for a job or a career. I'm grateful for my experience because without it, I wouldn't have started down my path where I belong. I feel powerful in the gym. I feel confident (sometimes). I feel like I'm benefiting myself (and others when I'm training). But the gym isn't my home. It's not where I belong 30-40 hours a week. It's where I belong for my stress-relief. It's where I belong for recovery. It's where I feel like I can shut out the world and focus on me. 

So then, where do I belong?

I belong in the classroom. 

I belong among children.

I belong behind a book, showing pictures.

I belong in front of class with an Expo marker in my hand.

I belong right next to a student when they finally understand something.

I belong grading sweet handwriting and misspelled words. 

I am a teacher. I have always been.

A classroom.

That's where I'm home. 

Something I denied to myself and others for a very long time is that I am a natural teacher. And it's where I truly belong. I made every excuse in the book that I don't want to be under the school board, I don't want to deal with idiotic parents, I don't want the emotional stress of knowing three of my kids are going home to no food, and I don't want to live on a teacher's paycheck. 

And then one day, I just said "yeah well, it's worth it".

I kept saying over and over that this is not definite. It's not permanent. I'm not even certified yet. If I haven't taught in an actual school yet, how do I know? 

Something in my bones knows. In my cells. 

This feels more right than any personal training job or wellness job or anything I've ever thought of doing.

[[Reality Check]] If I start the process of certification and I realize hard and fast that this is, in fact, not the path I'm supposed to take, then it won't be. I'll figure it out. But that's the adventure, right?

If you know me well at all, you know somehow I always return to kids or teaching or counseling or something. I can't stay away from kids for long before I start to get antsy. And after teaching at a curriculum-based summer camp at a museum for eight years, I'm pretty sure I have an idea of what it's all about. 

So what am I doing with my life? I'm enhancing it. I'm making it a happy life. I'm making it a life of enjoyment and passion. I'm not concerned with large amounts of money. Family and friends and passion. That's what makes happiness. I'm not remaking my story, I'm simply adding a very short chapter and moving on to the next adventure. In this moment of clarity, which will likely go away the moment I close my laptop after writing this, I am content with the way my life has unfolded in the past few months. Things have happened the way they were supposed to. Everything is going to be alright. It will. The universe is just saying "Hey, this way instead. It's better. Trust me." So for once, I'm listening. And I can't wait to report what unfolds next.

_____________________________________________

On my way home to Florida last night, I cried a lot. So much has happened that's just plain not fair the past few months. It's not fair. I have come dangerously close to throwing a tantrum like a three year old far too many times.

I didn't make myself cry. I let the emotions come when they wanted to. Once the tears came, they didn't stop.

After I queued up some great "cry songs" on my phone and let myself release, I was driving through a horrible storm. Like black skies, should-pull-over, awful storm. And through puffy eyes, a dribbly nose, and fatigue quickly setting in, I was thinking about what to do with my life. Then I heard myself say something.

"Just be here. Just be present."

I learned the hard way that no matter the amount of "what ifs" you reel through your head, the universe has vastly different plans. Your what ifs aren't going to do a damn thing but distract you from the journey you're on.  

We all have times that our patience is tried, our trust is shaky, our hearts are broken, or our souls are just plain tired. We are all going through shaky times at some point. Keep this in mind when you're interacting with someone who might be going through a tough time. You don't know their story. Even if you did, you're not the one experiencing it. When you're going through a rough time, it's not an excuse to be mean or rude or lack patience. Your bad mood is contagious. So smile through the pain. Fake it till you make it. 

If smiles were worth points, those points add up eventually. And eventually, you won't have to fake it anymore.

It's never too late to change paths. Some times are harder than others, but that doesn't mean you can't be happy. You deserve to be happy. 

You deserve that. 

We all do.