Limited Sight Distance


Today has been a rough day. Actually, if I were really honest, I’d admit that the past few days have just been sucky, both professionally and personally. After a long meeting this afternoon I decided to take a break. Normally, I like to break up my work afternoon with a personal phone call but since my phone wasn’t ringing and I’m sure as hell not dialing out I decided to take a drive through the neighborhood to clear my head.

I follow the same path in the afternoons. I hang a right out of the parking lot and circle around through the maze of houses behind my office. It’s an odd mix of social landscape back there. One minute you’re rolling by nice $300,000 homes with manicured yards and froo-froo animals and the next you’re locking your car doors in front of duplexes and quad units stuffed with more bodies than the bedrooms can accommodate. It’s a little sobering.

At the end of the journey there is a sign that says “Limited Sight Distance” at the crest of a hill just before the world drops off on the other side. I thought about stealing the sign today to hang in my living room or maybe my bedroom, both locations seem metaphorically appropriate.

I like to be the girl with the plan. Oddly enough I find myself flying by the seat of my MEK jeans more often than not. This season of life is no different. I was once happily married. We went to work, came home and I cooked dinner that we would all share as a family before watching a movie, bath time and eventually tucking the kids into bed. We had so many plans: working our way out of debt, buying a bigger house in a good school zone with a yard for the kids to play in, moving to the mountains and someday buying an RV and a boat. Life was simple and pleasant.

But our sight distance was limited.

My daughter starts kindergarten in the fall this year in a wonderful school zone. She no longer has to share a bedroom with her brother and they both spend warm afternoons playing in the backyard with the dogs. Their dad is no longer here for dinner or for bath and bedtime and despite the difficulties of the last few months he was alive, we miss him.

Now I’m making new plans. They seem to change daily. Hell, sometimes they seem to change every hour, but I plan anyway. Now I keep in mind that the world might just drop off on the other side of the hill.


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