Just Call Me Urban Cowgirl

So I’ve never been the most adventurous of spirits.  Okay, I did move 3,000 miles from home to attend college, and yeah, so I lived in Africa for a year and got malaria and served as a chaplain in a TB ward without a mask or gloves (Note: that last bit was not adventurous but just plain dumb).  But I’m also the type of person who sticks with routines because I’m nervous about changing them, who’d rather wander aimlessly in a store rather than ask a stranger for help, and who prefers to drive in the lane of traffic she will ultimately need to be in at least a mile early.

So when I resolved to figure out the public transportation route to school today, you can imagine I was a bit nervous.  But by golly, I did it!  Despite getting turned around a bit downtown looking for my train stop, I only panicked for the briefest of seconds before logically figuring out where it had to be.  And I realized that to every other Joe Schmoe on the street (who probably wasn’t watching me anyway), I probably appeared as comfortable as anyone else.  And if I didn’t, who cares?

This is a big step for me.  Having never lived in a city before, I’m finding my way around quite nicely.  I find I’m more intimidated by the idea of exploration than the actual act of exploration itself.  And if I do get lost, again, who cares?

Perhaps there’s more city mouse in me than I originally believed.

Even more significantly, I’m determined to be okay on my own because of it’s part of how I grow and heal.  I was dangerously dependent on my marriage to hold me together.  Being able to take care of myself on a day-to-day basis and feel confident in my own abilities and my own place in this world are prerequisites to a future with anyone else.  And I’m doing quite well, if I do say so myself.

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