FM September Topic - Trust
She's making dinner. It's spaghetti, a pretty simple thing to make. Just boil the noodles, and heat up the sauce. All pre-made, so it's not like it takes much effort as long as you're not completely inept in the kitchen or anything.
It's not that simple for Kate, though. While it may not be Taco Night, or cutesy pancakes, or anything else from her book of recipes on how to be a good wife, it's still a struggle. Always a struggle to keep living a normal life. To do normal things. To just cook a simple dinner without feeling like she is somehow betraying herself.
All she's ever really known was how to run. Even when she didn't have something she needed to run from, she just had to do it. She had to leave, see the scenery change as it went flying behind her to the background, flashed back to her in her rearview mirror. Something inside of her had just been born that way; restless. And fueled. She never really knew where she was going, and if she'd ever been there, if she'd ever made it where she was supposed to be, she'd never recognized it. Because no matter where she landed, no matter what her life was at that moment, she still felt like it didn't fit. Like she didn't belong. And there were miles of road still untraveled, needing to be christened under the wheels of her car.
It feels unnatural to her. It's what feels abnormal in her life, to stay and not the other way around. To always be leaving.
Yet there she is, still in Los Angeles, still with Jack, still staying still. Making spaghetti without somehow thinking it's an insult to everything she is, or just a role she's playing until it wears itself thin and she needs a new one to play. And she's not sure, she's never really sure if it'll stick. If maybe the day won't come when the road calls for her again.
She does know by now that if does, she can trust that Jack will follow her down it.
It's not that simple for Kate, though. While it may not be Taco Night, or cutesy pancakes, or anything else from her book of recipes on how to be a good wife, it's still a struggle. Always a struggle to keep living a normal life. To do normal things. To just cook a simple dinner without feeling like she is somehow betraying herself.
All she's ever really known was how to run. Even when she didn't have something she needed to run from, she just had to do it. She had to leave, see the scenery change as it went flying behind her to the background, flashed back to her in her rearview mirror. Something inside of her had just been born that way; restless. And fueled. She never really knew where she was going, and if she'd ever been there, if she'd ever made it where she was supposed to be, she'd never recognized it. Because no matter where she landed, no matter what her life was at that moment, she still felt like it didn't fit. Like she didn't belong. And there were miles of road still untraveled, needing to be christened under the wheels of her car.
It feels unnatural to her. It's what feels abnormal in her life, to stay and not the other way around. To always be leaving.
Yet there she is, still in Los Angeles, still with Jack, still staying still. Making spaghetti without somehow thinking it's an insult to everything she is, or just a role she's playing until it wears itself thin and she needs a new one to play. And she's not sure, she's never really sure if it'll stick. If maybe the day won't come when the road calls for her again.
She does know by now that if does, she can trust that Jack will follow her down it.