250 Letters: The DMV

It's been a year since I left Massachusetts. I've spent a good portion of this past year thinking that I will make my way back out to some easter metropolitan city sooner than later. I've come to the conclusion

that I probably won't, or at least I don't see that happening soon.

I've felt this strange sense of acceptance the past few days or so. Marshall has been good to me, but I've never thought of it as a place where I'm going to end up. I've planned and tried to execute my escape from here, but every time so far has been a no go. I've been upset about those missteps at times, but I've accepted them.

It's like I've been in line for the DMV this past year. You think you can barge right in, go to the window and get your business done quickly. No, you have to take a number and wait your turn. Everyone takes a number. Everyone waits. Some wait longer than others, but you're kidding yourself if you think you don't have to sit in one of those hard plastic chairs for at least a little bit.

I've thought I've heard my number called a few times these past few months. Turns out it hasn't been. I think I've just taken a deep breath and realized fighting it is useless. I have books. I have good company. I have a job. I have dreams. I have time.