I like to believe that anything can happen. The mailbox could, one day, be filled with hand-written notes from everyone I’ve ever met. That overdue baby that you keep saying is not going to come today . . . it could come today. I could find $20 on the sidewalk. Someone could randomly come up to me and tell me that my children would make the perfect models for a magazine shoot they are doing. Anything is possible.
“Anything” is highly unlikely, but it doesn’t hurt to be optimistic, right? Not that I’m waiting for any of these things to happen. I’m not even hoping or praying for them (except for that overdue baby, of course), but they could happen. Stranger things have happened. I know they have.
And yet I am always surprised at the things that do happen. I am always surprised at the course my life takes, the little comments people make (“You need to market that laundry bag! You could make a fortune off it! That is hot! That is so nice! You need to market that laundry bag. It has a drawstring and everything. Wow!”), the day-to-day dramas and the overall direction I seem to be heading.
I can’t help but try to imagine all the things that I just can’t imagine about my future. What skills will I gain as I raise my kids that will lead me to a job I never would have thought of but, coincidentally, happen to love? What person will I meet that will say something that will change the way I view my life? (It probably won’t be the guy at the laundry.) What path that I may half-heartedly walk down will wind its way to a place that I cannot possibly leave?
Six years ago when Micah and I started running together, I imagined it was something I would continue to do a couple of times a week, no more than 3 or 4 miles at a time, to keep me from getting fat. I would probably never love it, but I would tolerate it for the sake of my figure. But then I lost the weight, entered a race, did okay in it. I start to like running. Micah and I enjoyed running together. We added miles. We entered more races, met other runners, were inspired to push ourselves. I realized that I loved running. It became “a thing” Micah and I did together, kept us strong in body, mind, and relationship. I thought I would die happy if I ever ran a sub-8:00 mile. I thought it would be cool if my kids liked running, too. I thought I would have reached the pinnacle if I ever qualified for the Boston marathon.
I can hardly believe I am in this place. It’s like a mailbox full of hand-written letters, a $20 bill on the sidewalk, confirmation that my laundry bag is, indeed, the greatest invention known to mankind. I didn’t even know to hope for it, or pray for it. Maybe this is why I think anything can happen. And all I can do is prepare myself to roll with the possibilities.