When it rains, it pours...

Ugh, I have had a rough day. I feel like my posts thus far have been extremely unemotional, just commenting on the obvious and not my innermost feelings about being halfway around the world from my home and the people I love the most. Today all of that bottled up energy has been pouring out of my eyes, streaming down my face, and landing on my bed, my "fabindia" shirt or the book I've been reading. The catalyst for this explosion was a combination of a cold I've been fighting off and the realization that I flew to India for nearly seven weeks without fully preparing those who depend on me for my extended absence. Deep down I trust that things will work out and everyone, including me, will learn lessons about making mistakes and going with the flow, but that doesn't stop me from feeling guilty about some of the decisions I've made that have led to recent crossroads in my life. Deciding to pursue a new career as a photojournalist has been an adventure that has evoked incredible joy, but also led to personal struggles by demanding redistribution of precious time and energy. This trip to India has been inspirational and life-changing, for me and hopefully some of the people in my life as well. I hope that the courage to follow my passion and follow through despite the difficulties is something that my children will admire and learn from as they begin searching for their place in this world. At thirty-two I certainly have not found mine yet, but have begun to figure out where to look for it. Weird that when I wrote the title for this post I was referring to my tears, but in the last few minutes the rain suddenly began pounding down on the roof above me. I cherish those little signs that show up unexpectedly and give me the confidence to follow my heart and speak my mind. I feel better already. Now maybe I can plow through the 20 GB of pictures I've taken in the last few days and put some in my next post...