Our guest blogger today is Tammy Turner, author of Falling into Forever and its sequel that will release this spring The End of Never.
Once upon a time in a land far from my dorm room a not so charming prince decided to start a bar fight at 3 a.m. Cramming to ace midterm exams seemed a more logical way to spend a Saturday night than shivering in nose bleed seats at a football game. Tucked cozily into bed, drool beginning a glistening descent from my lips to the pillow, the phone rang and startled me from sublime unconsciousness.
I ignored him. He persisted. Three hours later we were in my car with a bail bond receipt clenched in my fist and the smell of stale beer wafting from his blood stained Go Dawgs sweatshirt. An early autumn freeze could not keep him from rolling down the window and spilling his spoiled cheer down the outside of the passenger door.
Prince charming called again a few weeks ago. He needed a ride to the airport. I reminded him of that long ago night in college, the last time I did him a favor before we broke up and did not speak like civilized adult friends again for years. He apologized and said he would pay me. He really needed a ride to the airport. After deciding not to pretend the reception on my cell phone was fading I responded I would rather relive that drive home after his bar fight than go to the airport during Thanksgiving.
Fortunately for him I am a sucker for a wink and the drawl of a handsome Southern gentleman. We approached the Atlanta airport slowly, timidly. Traffic crawled toward the concourse entrance like molasses from a tap. Cursing my weakness I stared ahead through the windshield, fingers strangling the steering wheel. That is when I saw them, a bustling pack of flight attendants, their long, sleek hair flowing down their backs, high heels clicking pertly against the sidewalk, suitcases wheeled dexterously behind them.
Jealousy churned in my gut. After Prince Charming jumped out of the car with a thanks and a nod I chugged back to the interstate with an idea. The New Year is coming I told myself. Find your passport.
Buried under divorce papers and mortgage bills I found the little blue book and grinned until I cracked open the cover. Expired? Of course it is. You have been too busy doing what every one else has told you to do to even bother to notice time was up. I hissed at the picture of myself fifteen years younger, not a care in the world other than booking a flight across the ocean. (Full disclosure: I also shrieked at the frizzy, bleached disaster on top of my head that has since been rectified.)
With the New Year, a resolution persistently gnaws at my thoughts. No risk, no reward. Writing and publishing my first novel Falling into Forever not only took patience but hope. Laying my thoughts and words bare for the world risked criticism, but the priceless reward is the warm and fuzzy satisfaction of accomplishment.
Resolutions would stick around longer than bumble bee on a honey bun if they did not hurt so much. I once tried to give up coffee but accepted failure when my son removed all sharp objects from the kitchen drawers.
Whether giving up a bad habit or starting a new chapter, the temporary sting of the unfamiliar can be forgotten by the pleasure of finding a new path to happy. My resolution this year: take a risk. Maybe I will even look for a job as a flight attendant, just need to get that passport renewed. First thing to take care of is the photo. I hope the camera lens is wide enough to capture the smile on my face.