Many years ago, my husband and I owned a business that sent us motivational tapes every week. These tapes, for the most part, were great entertainment as well as motivating and we still remember many of them. One of those was a man who was telling us how, despite the fact that he'd "arrived", he still had much to learn about choices and growth.
He told of how he'd gone to Boston to speak with the great motivator, Zig Ziglar. He was feeling a little intimidated, but also a little full of himself since he'd been asked to speak with the well known man. However, getting there was a problem. He drove his big new motorcoach, following the traffic signs and getting more and more lost. He kept remembering what someone had told him, "You are where you are because that's where you want to be." He was like, "No, I don't want to be lost on the freeways of Boston, I want to be on stage with Zig Ziglar."
He recounts that by the time two hours had gone by, his son was in the back window with a handmade sign that said, "Help, we're lost!"
That phrase is something that has stuck with my hubby and me. Many times we'll tease each other about being lost or doing something we don't want to do by reminding the other of that motto. I feel today it's particularly ironic.
Today is the start of the LDS Storymakers Writing Conference. All my fellow bloggers and members of Authors Incognito will be there, rubbing elbows with the gifted, the published, the who's who in LDS literature. Sigh. I'm telling myself, "You are where you are because that's where you want to be." It's a bitter pill to swallow in realizing that my choices over the past year have put me exactly where I didn't want to be.
There's no way I'd rather be home if I could be there. I'm a writer, after all, and desire to learn all I can about my craft. So, instead of shuffling around the house bemoaning the fact that I'm not there partying with the others and driving my family crazy with frustration, I'll be pulling out my notes from the previous two years and hearing the presenters voices in my head, pretending I'm there with them -- where I'd really like to be.
Hopefully next year, I really will be where I am because that's where I want to be.