I always do this. Try to drive, try to take control, try to get behind the wheel of my life and head in the direction I feel is best, not thinking of anyone else. I try to act like I have everything mapped out like I know where I’m going, like I hold all the answers and don’t need to listen, to slow down, to follow the damn GPS. But the truth is, I’m like a drunk driver, hands on the wheel trying to pretend like I’m fine. I’m glassy-eyed, acting like I can do something I know I can’t, but failing to see that my stubbornness will only ruin me, and potentially damage others along the way.
I’m dizzy. Dizzy on my own stupidity, my own clouded judgment, my own rash decisions, thinking that I can handle what I simply can’t. It’s like I’m intoxicated in the driver’s seat, foolishly believing authority doesn’t own me, as if I don’t have to be accountable, as if I’m fine without any help. But, I know better. I know that I’m only fighting against myself because I want to prove that I’m capable. I’m pushing back because when life falls apart I don’t want to admit that to myself. I just want to keep moving forward, running red lights until I can make sense of what’s happening again. Until I can merge back onto that highway and feel centered, ready to speed down the fast lane with the music on and not a care in the world.
And when somebody tries to come along to save me, I will push them away. I always forget that I should trust someone with the maps, the navigation, the airbags and seat belts. Life has reminded me countless of time that I should have someone in life to walk down this path with me whether it is to guide me or to remind me, that I don’t have to do this alone. You’re the one with the hands on my shoulders, trying to shake me from my selfishness. Trying to tell me that I don’t have to be this wild, drunken driver down the road of my life.
You told me that I could lean into you, into your love and shoulder; you told me that you’ve the confidence that you could raise a dead heart back to life, you could start the engine and pull me back into the right lane. And instead of trying to pretend that I’m okay, I’ve given you the keys. I’m going to let you be my guide; I’m going to stop pretending that I don’t need anyone else. I’m going to remind myself that it’s okay to be imperfect.
It’s okay to be a mess. It’s okay to not know where I’m heading, or to sit in the driver’s seat and just feel lost. It’s okay to surrender my poor decisions, my selfish judgment, my insecurity, my fear, my bitterness to you, and let you take control of my heart again. I realized its okay to let you in. But know that I wouldn’t let you in all at once, but I’m letting you save me from this mess and remind me of my worth in your eyes, even when I don’t quite deserve it.
I know I’ve been down this road many times before, and I know I will probably take the U-turn half-way down the road, but right now, I am trying. I will not say I am ready to begin again, but this time my hands and heart are on the wheel at the same time, and I'm ready to take the passenger seats.