Warning: This might get preachy.

Who am I?

Someone very recently posed this question to me. I found myself unable to answer.

I can easily fire off a few defining characteristics.

-Family-oriented.
-God-fearing.
-Feisty.
-Educated.
-Female.
-Kitchen/Baking junkie.
-A daughter.
-A sister.
-A friend.

But who am I? No freaking clue.

Back when I was working, I was introduced as "a cop". But is that really all I want to be known as? If that were the case, I would have just folded myself up in my locker at the end of the day until it was time to go 10-8 again. I had a life outside of my job, outside of my uniform. Or so I thought.

After I lost my job, I felt like I had no purpose. Like I was just...there. I convinced myself that my life was on hold and that it once I was rehired everything would simply start over. "Ok, life sucks right now, but I'm going to get a new job and then everything will be right again".

In some ways, that is true. I never understood until now how vitally important a job is to the mental and emotional well-being of the psyche. The idea of going to bed because you to have something to go do in the morning. Getting off of work and getting to grumble and grouse about work even though, secretly, you love it.

Every time I tried for a new PD and failed, I was crushed. I saw each job possibility as that chance to press the restart button and if I couldn't, it was devastating. It got to the point where I stopped telling people about my next test dates, my next interview with such-and-such PD, because then I'd have to subsequently inform them that I had yet again let it slip through my fingers. I felt like I was letting everyone down. It's quite narcissistic when I think about it. Like everyone is going to base their hopes and dreams on whether or not I get a new job. It has taken me a while to realize that it wasn't their disappointment in me that I was seeing, but disappointment for me.

The only voice I was hearing say, "you are a failure" was my own.

I've always walked with a very quick gait. I've never been an 'ambler'. Even people much taller than me sometimes complain that I walk too fast and need to slow down. Part of the reason for this is simply that I'm shorter than everyone else, so I need to walk twice as fast to keep up. But another reason for this is that I have a goal to get to...I'm in a hurry and please move aside because come hell or high water I'm going to get to where I'm going, dammit. These last few years I've felt like I've been forced to slow down and go at a much slower pace. I can't say I've done so willingly. More like an imaginary hand is pushing me back by the forehead, and I'm mulishly plowing forward against it, only looking forward, and not stopping to look at what's around me right at that very moment. Push push push.

Today, I found a new store at the mall that sells nothing but 50's style clothing. Somewhat rockabilly, but a bit more authentic. Less skulls and tattoos, more full skirts, crinolines, even snoods. They had this incredible black velvet, curve-hugging dress with capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was the last one in stock. What the hell, I thought. I'll try it on.

The sales associates handed me a pair of leopard-print pumps for the full effect, and even my dad (who usually doesn't have much to say on the topic of women's clothing) insisted that I buy the dress. Then I looked at the price tag. $129.00. How could I, someone on unemployment, justifiably make such an extravagant purchase? Unthinkable.

Push push push.

I cringe when I think of what I've missed by just pushing against that hand on my forehead, while neglecting everything else. The relationships I let fall by the wayside. How many other opportunities did I ignore? Why didn't I take this extra time to improve on the guitar? Go to Oregon? Read more books? Take a random road trip by myself? Always, always, the excuse was: I can't afford to do it right now. When I have a job. When I have the money. For some of those chances I didn't see or take, it may be too late.

Push push push.

The question I'm asking myself now is, why was I always seeing that hand as an obstacle? Why did I see it as the block to what I felt was my destiny?

Why didn't I realize sooner that it was actually the hand of God?

Believers have this idea that God has a hand in everything. That God is gently guiding us through life's journey. A very calming, comforting imagery, no? Not so much with me. Like any parent, He has had to take a bit of a firmer approach with one of His more...uh...obstinate kids. In my case, God has been trying to get me to stop and see what's around me right now, rather than allow me to just charge unabashedly through life without stopping to check a few things out. He practically had to hit me with a frying pan to get me to apply to grad school. All those times I tried and didn't get the job, I didn't fail.

He was simply telling me, "Not yet. I have some other things for you to see first".

The journey continues to answer the initial "who am I?" question.

Oh, and I bought the dress. And it looks damn good.