The Sip, The Gulp

Of course, the first thing that happens to me on my way to Independence-exclamation-mark (a.k.a. London) is that I get lost. I always do this. There's something inside of me that reassures my entire being that I know how to get to where I'm going, irregardless of whether or not I've ever been there before. Usually, I have company. Usually they know this about me. "Do you know where we're going?" is a question I've been asked most of my driving life.
Of course I don't know where I'm going, exactly.
A big sign announced 'Welcome to London' after an hour and a half. Now I just have to figure out precisely where I can park to begin my day. Ever notice how reality hits right about the time it's too late to prepare for it?

Eventually, after many wrong turns and hopeful detours, I ended up running into my dad. Totally meant to do that. Totally. By this time I was starving, so it was a perfect situation. He feeds me. :)

He also drinks with me, thank god. We began with a pitcher of 50 and wings.

We talked about life and broken hearts. We made fun of our waitress who talked like Ellen Greene from Little Shop of Horrors, though he didn't mind the flirting. We talked about theatre and hockey and my best friends. We talked about music and dancing. It was thrilling, since we don't talk much. I felt like I was introducing him to my life.

I noticed his eyes. Unconditional love eyes. Undying faith-in-me eyes. I started to understand that my sub-par relationship with my dad had me searching for someone who could look at me that way. I have unfair standards of what the men in my life need to be for me. On that patio, I had a Wizard of Oz moment: I had what I was looking for all along.

My dad is my soft place to fall, and he'll always catch me. I can fix me without being afraid of failure.