Watershed Moment

I do not know where my life is going right now.  I wake up depressed about that every morning.  Every morning, I wake up sad that I live alone and am not married and do not have children and I do not know where that man is; my future husband.  Except when we were in Estes Park, or I was in Gatlinburg, or I was in Marble this past weekend, I wake up alone and without purpose.

I want purpose in my life.  You do not see the purpose in going up to the North and South Platte river and standing thigh deep in the water with a 5 month old German Shepherd splashing around and crawling up on a rock with me.  You don't see the purpose of how that 5 month old shepherd is the closest thing I have to a baby right now and how he draws out my natural nurturing instinct.  You do not see me looking up at you on the river bank; not in my world.  You do not hear me ask you whether you would like to take off your shoes and socks and dip your feet in the water.  You don't hear the gentleness in which I say that you don't have to get in; just let your feet rest.  You are separate from me and the water, and the pup is the only thing that connects us. 

You do not see when I am standing in the water that in that exact moment the curtains are not drawn on my bedroom window and I can see myself floating down that river in a tube with good friends and a family and smiling and knowing I am exactly where I know I should be.  You do not see that it is exactly where I want to be.  It is the beginning of seeing the plan for my life.  You think in this free-spirited state that I do not think.