As I was saying goodbye to my newly adopted cousins, 6 year old Isabella charged through the front door out onto the porch where I was standing. "What happened to Arni?" she chirped. I couldn't believe she even remembered his name. She couldn't remember mine half the time. It had been months since she had last seen him. Braydon was right on her heels reiterating the question.
"I broke up with him." I explained.
"Why?" Braydon asked.
"He isn't nice." I lied.
I leaned against the cool gray concrete, resting my elbows on the side of the porch. Braydon was looking up at me expectantly from the front steps. I stumbled over my words for a moment, at a loss. "He was nice when he was here," he pointed out in his nine-year-old matter-of-fact way.
"I know. He was nice. He still is nice. It is hard to explain." I finished lamely. Braydon shrugged and stepped down onto the sidewalk. I was bewildered.
At least it didn't hurt this time.
Almost a week ago I was sitting on a park swing without too much to be concerned about, just a Systematic Theology exam that was coming up.
Today as I was sitting on a park swing watching my three cousins playing on the playground, the uncertainty of my future felt tangibly heavy. Things used to be so certain. I would marry Arni and live happily ever after, more or less.
Now I have the overwhelming feeling of having no place to go, no direction for my life, and just utter confusion. Everyone else's lives go on, while I am stuck trying to make a living in Chicago. On my own.
I can't handle 'on my own'. I have never really had to do it before.
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