When I was younger, I used to quietly wait around for you, only partially conscious of who you were and what you were about. I used to misspell your name a lot, mistaking that second “o” for a “u.” You were always so forgiving and were even gracious enough to show up often enough to remind me that you truly existed. As I’ve gotten older and less patient I have started to think that maybe waiting for opportunities is for the birds. I’ve tried to create my own. But I often feel that my own destiny refuses to let me drive. I am not in control. I might be in the car, but I am not behind the wheel, that is for sure. I’m just hoping that opportunity and destiny have a little chat soon to figure out where I’m supposed to be dropped off, because I’m getting really car sick.