Redemption in the Deep South

Today as I was driving to the grocery store, alone with my thoughts for the first time in about a week, I had an epiphany about happiness. I realized that I was, that I AM happy. This happiness of which I speak is not a giddy euphoria, but more of a steady, deep current of contentedness. I think I have felt this way for a while, but on this solo trip to the store, I realized that I am no longer waiting for that other shoe to drop. I trust this happiness. I know it won't go away.

Moving from California has been cathartic for me. I needed a new canvas. Growing up, and well into my twenties, I became accustomed to what I now call "crisis living," going from one personal or family crisis to another. I couldn't slow down and enjoy life; I was constantly anxious about turning a corner and running headlong, unprepared, in to my next tragedy. So I stayed on my guard, rejecting before I could be rejected, struggling to keep my head above the tide of anger and bitterness. This way of life was so ingrained in my mental topography, I honestly didn't know, until recently, that there was another way to live.

Early in our marriage, my husband helped me to recognize that the unhealthy consequences of living with this constant fear, but I had no idea how to change. Physical distance has been the only way for me to repair my faulty wiring; Alabama has been my soul's rehabilitation. We did not move here as a means of escape, and I did not foresee that this new found peace would be the result. But it was, and it has been, and I am thankful.

I am thankful because, though redemption has always been a part of the story, it is now a part of my story. I understand what it means now, and because I understand it, I can pass it on. I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop, or waiting in fear for the next crisis to arise; but when it does, I have a deep well from which to draw.