Alphabet Soup

Mmmmm, all this needs is a little Texas Pete.

So it’s been awhile. Okay, that’s probably an understatement. But if you knew how hectic my life has been (and how little internet access I’ve had) over the past 5 (geez) months, you’d be just a little bit forgiving. So 10-second wrap-up: I completed my thesis, exams, and earned a Master’s degree, took a road trip (or 3) across the country, got a job (HALLELUJAH!), rented out my house in Atlanta, moved to San Antonio (in 3 days flat), and started a brand new life in a city where I know absolutely 100% no one. Aannnddd breathe.

So before I get rolling with all the mentally constipated blogs that I’ve written in my mind over the past 5 months (which hopefully will be posted every couple of days over the next few weeks), there’s just one tiny thing I have to acknowledge out in the open just one time (since this is the place I’m supposed to come clean about things like this), and hopefully never again have to admit:

I was wrong.

Okay, lift your jaw up off the floor. I know, I know. It’s not something that happens very often (well, the admitting part anyway). But recently, I’ve had to take back some of the harshest words I’ve ever expressed, and it’s a lesson that I need to share.

So here’s the message; like to hear it? Here is goes.

God has a twerrific (what movie?) sense of humor.

He likes when you tell Him about your plans as if life’s actually going to go your way at any point. More specifically, He loves when you say things like “I’ll never do this” or “That will never happen to me,” because it just gives Him that much more incentive to make those things happen even faster.

The best part about God’s sense of humor is that He will not only make you EAT your words, but for extra fun, He’ll make sure you LIKE the taste of them. MmmmMMmmmmm, sweet regret. Tastes so good.

So two years ago, my Mom said she was moving to Texas, and my Dad decided to buy a house for her to live in. I cursed the grounds of that house. Cried about how they were moving to the ONE STATE I would NEVER live in, and when I got married and had children of my own (or bastards without the marriage), they would never know their grandparents just like I didn’t get to know my Tejano grandpeeps. I vowed to live on the east coast for the rest of my life. I am, after all, an east coast baby. Born and raised in VA, undergrad in PA, and grad school in GA. There was just no way. Furthermore, the dumbest, most backward, racist people (outside of Alabama) live in Texas, and I could never be a part of that society. Words, words, words.

Now for the feast. With my mom to Texas came my nephew; with my nephew came my sister. My brother had a daughter, and now, just based on pure mathematics (which is how generally I roll), I have more immediate family in the state of Texas than I do on the entire east coast. Damn you, arithmetic.

Furthermore, it only took a couple conversations with my nephew telling me he wants to move to Atlanta to live with me to realize I can’t spend another year missing him grow up. He is, after all, pretty much the only man in my life. The other man in my life (my Daddy) is retiring in one year and moving – you bet – to Texas.

All roads lead to hell (in a pick-up truck). Where the temperatures break 100 every single day, and there’s more pride (and prejudice) than a Jane Austen novel.

So here I am.

Now for the icing on the cake: I kinda like it here. San Antonio, anyway. My job is pretty awesome (especially given the “scenery” of men in uniform everywhere), the people are (generally) really nice, I the racial climate is actually not that bad, and the male to female ratio is probably the REVERSE of that in Atlanta (Thank you Jesus, and the U.S. military). Plus I love my apartment, the area of town I live in, the River Walk, and nightlife, and really I have no complaints (except the heat and – lack of – radio stations). It’s exactly where I think I should be, and where God wanted me, for that matter.

Because like I said before, our plans are pretty ridiculous in God’s eyes. Our words are just fuel for the eternal flame He has burning for our lives.

Yes, I moved to Texas, and yes, I like it here. Who knows what’s next in my life, but since I’ve been here, I’ve found myself eating more and more of the syllables and phrases I've uttered into existence all my life. I would share them all, but there’s honestly not enough room.

So lesson learned. You should learn from me, too. Always make sure your words are sweet like honey because you are certain to taste them in the future.

Back in the day, God would have withheld my entrance into the promise land for saying some slick mess out the side of my neck.

Thank goodness He seems to have since (the Old Testament days) developed a profound sense of humor.

Bon apetit!