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Beth is convinced Cameron knows exactly what I’m going through. That somehow she has all the answers.
“I’m telling you, Cas, the video was incredible! Cameron has so much confidence that it’s almost impossible to imagine she’s been in the same position not so long ago herself,” Beth says.
She’s so excited, I immediately feel guilty about letting her down. I have to be there. I have to try.
Sitting in the front row of the seminar furiously taking notes, I realize that maybe I expected too much. There’s too much that I need, and even though life has never given me any reason to, I have always believed I'd get all the things I want if only I work hard enough.
“Life owes you nothing,” Cameron says, pausing for dramatic effect. “Every breath, every day, and everything big or small is a gift.”
I stare back at Cameron, her wide brown eyes lock with mine as if she knows something about me, has seen through me somehow and just knows I need to hear this more than anyone else in the room.
“What would happen if you were grateful for every small gift?” Cameron asks. “What if you didn’t waste away the life you have by dreaming of the life you may never live?”
I swallow hard. What if, indeed.
Cameron’s intense stare makes it seem as if she expects a response even though I’m sure the question is rhetorical.
“The key to your happiness is in realizing you’re always exactly where you’re supposed to be,” Cameron says finally, walking across the stage to stare down at some other helpless member of her audience.
“Exactly where I’m supposed to be,” I repeat.
I’m only this unhappy because I believe I deserve more from life. I’ve never seen life for what it is. It’s always been the big dream I was chasing instead of living in the moment.
“What did you think?” Beth asks as we walk back into her apartment.
I don’t answer right away.
Something has changed in me, like the color is back in my world. I can see clearly, a weight lifted. It’s the biggest cliche, but it feels right.
“She was right,” I smile. “I’m right where I need to be.”
Cassidy stops rustling about the kitchen and comes back to see me sitting on the couch. “My couch?” she asks. “Is this where you need to be?”
“No,” I laugh. “Starting over, right at the bottom. I don’t need to be working my way back to having my own bakery. Maybe I don’t need the white picket fence, two and a half kids and a golden retriever. I can be happy right where I am,” I say.
I’m surprised by my own words, as if I’m realizing they’re true all over again.
With the wind still in my sails, I start applying for jobs. I’m not fussy, any job will do. It doesn’t have to be perfect, because neither am I.
One of my first interviews is at a gentlemen’s lounge called Suave–a dimly lit establishment that smells of wood and polish, where well-dressed men nurse drinks older than they are and speak in confident, even voices. No doubt making and losing more money than I have ever seen in my life.
“Waitressing?” Beth hands me the tape and I get to work sealing another box.
I sever the tape with my teeth and flatten the freshly secured section with a flat palm. “It’s better than nothing, Beth. And it’s how I finally get to move off your couch.”
“I told you that you don’t have to move out right away,” Beth pouts.
I can’t help but laugh softly. After all the not-so-subtle nudges to get my act together, now she wants to be sad about me leaving.
“If it’s any consolation,” I reply, pulling an empty box in front of me, “-my new apartment is a shitty one-bedroom that smells of damp. So I’ll be hanging out here most of the time anyway.”
Beth seems to ease up a bit on her pouting after this, and jumps in by helping me fold the last of my clothes.
“I’m planning on taking the first few weeks to clean the carpets, maybe a fresh paint job…”
“I liked the old plan better,” Beth says. “If it stays a dump, then you’ll be here more often.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I’m kidding.”
I laugh, flipping my hair out of my face. “You’re going to love having your couch back, you’ll see.”
