Wet Paint

You can never go home again.

Is that how the saying goes?

My husband and I just returned from a trip to Boston – our beloved city. Rick grew up in Upstate New York and moved to Boston for college… I grew up in Oklahoma and (gladly) moved to Boston for Rick. (Our love story is a good one and will undoubtedly come up in a later post, shop so if you’re a romantic like me, sildenafil you’ll want to stay tuned.) This is a city where we had our first home together, ask where we had our first big fight, where he proposed and I said yes and where I found my independence from my (wonderful) tight-knit family and the (not-so-wonderful) self-doubting voice in my head (a small town girl can survive in a big city!).

We hadn’t been back to the city for about a year and a half, and in our minds, it was time to go “home” for a visit. We were sure that we would magically fall back into the rhythm of the city, and to some extent, that was true. We had a blast visiting our old haunts and eating in restaurants we were never able to try before. But Boston just didn’t feel like home to us anymore. Not to mention the numerous roadblocks that said to us, “There’s nothing left for you here… Keep moving forward.”

Nearing the end of our vacation, we decided to make one last stop at our favorite spot in the entire city – the place where Rick proposed. It was at our bench in the middle of the beautiful Tufts University campus, a place where we would stop on our morning walks, a place where we’d bring a picnic lunch and chat about our day, a place where we had spent so many moments savoring the beauty of the trees, the city and our blossoming relationship.

As Rick and I approached our cherished spot, we both stopped dead in our tracks and started laughing. There, taped to the middle of the bench with blue painter’s tape, was a handwritten sign that read, “Wet paint.” We couldn’t believe it. Of all the times that the school could’ve chosen to repaint this bench, it chose the one week my husband and I were there to visit.

Wet Paint

Our bench with "wet paint" on a dreary day in Boston.

Another roadblock. Another sign that told us not to look back, but to keep looking ahead. The cherry on top. The icing on the cake. This was another moment in Boston that we would always remember. We were clearly shown that home is where you make it, and who you choose to make it with. And I’m happy with that.

I will always love Boston and all of the memories that go along with it, but I’m grateful for where I am in my life right now and for all of the people who have helped color and shape it. Sometimes, wet paint isn’t actually a bad thing. It can be the start of something even better.

And you?

What are the moments in your life that have made you realize the beauty of the direction your life path has taken you?

Comments

  1. Rick says:

    We certainly had a good laugh. What a picture… but we learned so many life lessons this trip, so it’s all good. And really, wet pain means improvement (or at least an upgrade) is happening!

  2. I was living in Florida after working for an advertising agency for 4 years. Broke up with the boyfriend that led me there. All the signs pointed to a move to California. Even had a dream, out of the blue, about having a baby with an old flame! Sure enough, I moved to California, stumbled paths with said old flame and now we have been married 12 years with three kids. Funny how life’s road signs work.

  3. emily says:

    I LOVE that story, Laura! It’s always good to listen to the signs life throws your way – good for you! Makes my heart happy. :0)

  4. Katherine says:

    LOVE this Emily!! Home really IS where your heart is! Guess there was a reason we looked at that cross stitch Mom made ALL those years ago displaying that very quote….. Love you and SO glad you are happy!! Mwah mwah mwah!!

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