Comfort In Strange Places

They say that scent is the strongest sense tied to memory.
How true...

I was reading tonight, finishing Breaking Dawn for the third time.
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with thoughts of the coming week. Of the planned meetings with Bubbe. The hopeful/tentative plans with Seth. The cafe and open mic on Wednesday. The uncertainty of Thursday, with the hope of some laundry getting done. The conference this weekend with the 20's in the area.
Thoughts of Jenn and Hart. Of Jackie. Heather. Of my family. Crystal. My friends in Tampa. Britta.
Thoughts of my lack of a job. Of a life.
And I felt...sad...frustrated...almost hopeless. Almost like I was alone in all of it. In all of my wanting to do something...to truly go somewhere with my life...and with my inability to seem to make that happen.

I'm not alone. I know and understand this. I have amazing friends and family. There is not a doubt in my mind that I'm never alone.

But I felt alone, just for that fleeting second.
I missed my life. My security. My independence.

A fraction of a second found me with my face buried in the binding of the book, a habit I'm not sure where I acquired, but one that comforts me nonetheless. Because the friend I borrowed the book from smokes, my nostrils were quickly filled with the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

In a flash, I was no longer standing in my bedroom at 2am, thinking about the things that weren't in order in my life.

I was at Travis' house, sitting on his bed watching a movie, while he played games on his computer and fixed mine.
I was standing in my kitchen, cooking dinner and yelling back and forth through the open door and windows with my group of friends on the balcony.
I was at Ballast with Lucy and Chris and even Rob, watching our makeshift bonfires and walking down the pier.
I was sitting on the sofa in my apartment, playfully closing the curtains as the boys stood outside smoking, using wireless remotes to play video games.
I was at Kelsie's house, talking and giggling and gossiping.
I was walking to the store with Mike, buying diapers for the kids he was babysitting and laughing at the looks other customers were giving us.
I was lounging at the pool at Camden, laughing and screaming and throwing handfuls of ice back at the boys.
I was leaning against the railing on my porch, giggling at the boys and throwing pennies down into the night below, making the frogs jump across the courtyard.
I was walking through Busch Gardens with Travis, as he pretended to be in the area thanks to a local cruise or group trip, just to bum a smoke off a stranger.
I was with Lucy and Chris and Rob again at Starbucks, all of us drinking coffee and talking about anything and everything...and nothing.
I was in my bed, curling up in Gary's arms when he crawled in next to me after locking the door for the night.

And...while there was a slight sting, because I suddenly realized that none of those memories involved Crystal... I was amazed.
Amazed that all that it took to throw me back to so many happy memories was that faint whiff of smoke.
In that split second, I forgot everything else. I forgot the feelings of failure and frustration and sorrow and worthlessness.
All I could remember were the good times. All the days I'd joked with my friends, asking them if they were trying to kill me with all the secondhand smoke.

I never thought that the thought of a cigarette would make me smile. Make me happy. Make me remember days when things were hard, but OK.
And then make me remember what I have.
My parents. My brothers. My sister. My grandmother. The rest of my large, crazy, dysfunctional family whom I love dearly.
Jenn. Jackie. Hart. The rest of my congregation, and the lifelong friends and allies I have found there.
Heather. Britta. Danielle. Mike. Rafael. All the friends who have come into my life over the last almost-25 years and who prove, time and time again, that hey are always there for me.
Alan. Ashley. Krow. Kelsie. Chris. Lucy. Mike. Gary. Everyone in Tampa who accepted me into their group, who made me feel at home, who were there for that happy summer, became my family, and supported me as I crashed and burned.

Suddenly, life wasn't so bad.
Everything was OK. Bearable. Not as bad as it had seemed just moments before.

Because I realized...
No matter where I am, who I'm with, how I'm feeling... Regardless of whether or not I'm employed or I own my own car... Completely independent of my ability to financially (or even emotionally, some days) support myself...

I am never alone.

I have been blessed beyond all measure with friends and family who love me. Who are there for me. Who will always stand beside me, no matter what's happening.

I invariably respond to the question "What's your worst fear?" with the response "That something terrible would happen to the people I love." That sentence is always followed by the addition "And being alone forever."
Tonight I realize that, regardless of whether not the good Lord sees fit to fulfill my desire to share my life and passion with a good man...
I will not be alone forever.

Funny that the "tool" I needed to have that particular revelation was the fading odor of someone's habitual smoking...