Sometimes, I'll open a book when I feel lost. I always think that maybe whatever page I come to will give me something deep and insightful which will be exactly what I need to read at that moment. That doesn't really happen, though, because life is not always like a movie, and because you can't just sit around and wait for things to fall into your lap, and also because that's what the the Table of Contents is for.

So, as I skimmed the titles included in one of my favorite anthologies, I came across a piece by William Hazlitt called On Going a Journey*,and the title stood out to me because, while I may not always know the way, I do recently feel like I'm on some sort of journey.

"The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel, do, just as one pleases. We go a journey chiefly to be free of all impediments and of all inconveniences; to leave ourselves behind... It is because I want a little breathing-space to muse on indifferent matters, where Contemplation

'May plume her feathers and let grow her wings,

That in the various bustle of resort

Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd,'

that I absent myself from the town for a while, without feeling at a loss the moment I am left by myself."

I feel as though I've been flailing lately. I'm sometimes neither fully here nor there, I am often sad, and I'm having so much trouble seeing the whole picture without getting worked up about the larger details.

But to look at this time of uncertainty, this journey--where my beloved dog grows old, and Rob and I manage to grow closer even though we are further away from each other than ever--as liberty, perfect liberty, and to use it as an opportunity to make my life exactly what I want it to be? That's something I hadn't yet thought of, and it's powerful.

"Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, and a winding road before me, and a three hours' march to dinner--and then to thinking!"

*On Going a Journey and a whole lot of other awesome essays can be found in Phillip Lopate's The Art of the Personal Essay, which is a huge collection that I am glad to own.

It's bizarre, to simultaneously feel completely hopeless about one thing and so incredibly blessed about everything else. But I think that's just how life is sometimes.

To say that we stayed in this weekend would be an understatement. On Saturday afternoon Rob, Sean, and I ventured out to the mall to do some Christmas shopping and literally bought one thing before looking at puppies and then going home. Not productive. At home, we watched movies and ate a huge seafood dinner of scallops, lobster, and shrimp with my parents. We sat on the couch by the fire on Sunday morning and drank tea. Sunday afternoon brought a cooking marathon between my mother and I, and then Rob and I took a walk down to the dock and sat on the boat for a while.

I spent so many moments this weekend looking around me and feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. This family, this man, this food and these things that I sometimes take for granted without a thought. I feel so, so lucky for this life I've been given.

A few weekends ago I drove to Farmville, where I studied English as an undergraduate student, and I was hit with so much nostalgia along the way. That drive down 460 East is one that made me who I am today--the curves and stop lights and long straightaways lead to a place where I read hundreds of pages a week, made some of the best friends, finally understood what kind of person I wanted to be, and eventually met Rob at a Halloween party six miles down the road.

Every time I visit, I drive that road and think about fall and winters past, about the semester I read Clarissa, about the amazing friendships I made, about  broken hearts that healed and made me thankful,  about that one overlapping year where Sean and I were at school together; our standing lunch dates where we would eat soup and grilled turkey sandwiches dipped in honey mustard, his visits to my place from his dorm room to do laundry and homework with me, and that overwhelming reminder of the gift that your brother is one of your best friends.

There are so many roads that make me think--the road from Roanoke to Charlottesville and back, the road I drive every morning from my parents' house to downtown Roanoke where I went to high school and now work, the drive from downtown to Hollins where I went to graduate school. All of these roads that signify seasons of my life that have passed, but that I still hold onto with some of the best memories.

When I drive to Northern Virginia to visit Rob, or when we meet somewhere in the middle, I like to picture a day when we wake up every Saturday morning, cozy and settled together in our own permanent home, looking back on those days that we used to travel so much to be together.

Life sometimes puts a lot of miles between where one is and where they'll end up.

I'm getting there.