And the door is only three paces away.

We spend so much time mapping journeys that never quite play out as planned. We fill our heads with dreams and whisper personally crafted endings into our own ears so many times that pre-construction based on fiction becomes inevitable. While the battle between expectations and actuality most often ends somewhere other than the scripted mark, life still finds a way to be incredibly beautiful. Even in tragedy, at the pinnacles of joy, in the gray ash of a season's defeat, and in the prospects of what mystery lies just beyond a door, it comes together in a collage of discovery. In it we are made human.

I can't make them love again, I can't even make them like one another. Likewise, I cannot stop or even pause the throes of wars being waged [or distant training that is required to combat them]. I may or may not be able to muster an ounce of interest in tomorrow's morning classes, or to rely on sunshine, acceptable cell service, a place to park my car. While these things are so, I am many of my parents' good parts. I am lucky for each moment in peace with and proximity to my soldier. I am grateful for close friends who willingly listen to garrulous chatter. Occasionally, I even feel cozy in the midst of a gray afternoon or the quiet of disconnect. It happens for a reason, to get us to the next place. Maybe if I shift my focus and stop trying to manage something so large that it cannot possibly be steered, I'll remember the gorgeous intricacies that make this mine [even when it's hard].