The Road

by Carolin Messier

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When I first rode
my blue two wheeler up the hill,
I thought I’d made it.
When I hand-stitched
the green “100 Cookie” badge on my Girl Scout sash,
I thought I’d made it.
When I boarded the plane
to study abroad,
I thought I’d made it.
When I explored the streets of Paris
and discovered my new direction,
I thought I’d made it.

When I got married
started my business
bought a house
stood up to my mother,
I thought I’d made it.

When I chose happiness on my own,
I thought I’d made it.
When I opened myself up to love again,
I thought I’d made it.
When I learned to receive,
I thought I’d made it.
When I could listen to understand,
I thought I’d made it.
When I truly committed,
I thought I’d made it.
When we set the date,
I thought I’d made it.
When he left the psychiatrist’s office smiling,
I thought I’d made it.
When I learned he was dead,
I thought I’d never make it.

Then when I learned to be broken
reached acceptance
slept through the night
smiled again
fully trusted
felt safe,
I thought I’d made it.

But then I tried to fix someone
and realized there is no land called Madeit.
It cannot be plotted on a map
or wandered into through an aimless fog.

There is only here.
And now.
Being and intention.
Love and breath.
And a road without destination.

Now that I understand this,
surely, I’ve made it.