When we were growing up, my sisters and I envisioned a very similar future for ourselves. Small but odd details seemed to confirm that our lives would forever run in this special synch: across a span of many years, we all lived in the same dorm room at Indiana University (Forest A #418), we all majored in French, and we seemed to go through similar phases in the length of our hair. We would all have it long–then the impulse would hit and we would all cut it short.
Basically, we figured, our lives would be the same.
What the heck–we would probably end up living in the same town and having children at the exact same time. Or something.
During the past year and a half, this theory has completely fallen apart:
1. Heidi now lives in cold and isolated Fairbanks, Alaska. Erica lives in peaceful and quiet Fort Knox, Kentucky. I live in the loud and bustling city of Chicago.
2. I married a scholar; they both married army men.
3. Heidi had a baby within a year after getting married. However, four years her senior, I’m still in a fit of terror at the mere thought of a small being depending on me, pooping in any place other than a toilet, or thinking its nutrition has anything to do with the general area of my chest.
Our different paths really hit home during that roadtrip to Kentucky.
Oh my gosh, I thought. Erica and I are actually different people.
Who wudda thunk it.
She drives to Lowes to get fertilizer and plants flowers. I don’t think I’ve ever shopped at Lowes in my life, much less planted a flower.
She devises intricate systems of ropes and strings with which to hold up her window boxes. Window boxes? It’s a concept I don’t quite understand.
She has daffodils flanking her front porch. I have never even had a front porch.
She sweeps her steps in bare feet. If I ventured outside barefoot I would probably get broken glass, gum, or drug paraphenalia stuck in my feet within 0.5 seconds.
It’s a study in contrasts, alright.
However, we have arrived at our different locations for the same reasons: because of love. We all married godly, driven men whose careers have brought us where we are. We are all willing and eager to follow them wherever God leads. One happened to lead to a sleepy little town in Kentucky . . .
. . . one happened to lead to this windy metropolis.
I know that living different lives won’t drive us apart–our friendship will always be strong. It’s just weird to think that we may actually make different choices. Is that allowed?
But not to worry–wherever life leads us, our uncanny love of large bowls of popcorn indicates that there will always be a deep connection.
I love you, Blonde One!