Searching.

I have a friend who's searching.

I have a friend who has no idea where her life is going, no idea what move to make next or if her next decision will be the one that finally leads her where she's supposed to go.

She is absolutely gorgeous, and has one of those laughs that make you want to dig up every old joke you've ever heard. One of those smiles that can change the mood of a room. But ... if you really look, you would know. She's searching for something that's not there.

I see her better than most, I suppose, because I see in her eyes what I used to see radiating from my own. What I used to feel when I would see other couples or other people who knew -- without a doubt -- what they wanted to do with their lives.

It didn't matter if they were lawyers or mothers or secretaries or politicians I used to interview back in my days as a reporter. If I saw that certainty, I was jealous. Because even though I may have looked like I had it all together, I didn't know anything.

I used to be weighed down so much by what I'd lost. The people I no longer had with me, the jobs I could have had, the educational trek I should have taken ... I never knew what it meant to be secure in how things were.

I almost had myself convinced that the certainty I saw in all those other people's eyes just wasn't in the cards for me.

Almost.

Things are different when you're no longer searching. They're different because you find the kind of love you read about in storybooks, and you come to terms with the career choices you've made. You realize, almost catharticly, that everything you've ever wanted is right there.

It's there on late Saturday mornings when you decide to eat breakfast in bed. Or Friday nights when you say, "Babe, let's stay home tonight." And it's there during the week when you finally get that big project done and your boss says, "Good job. Now about that other thing."

Everything I could ever want is with me. In the very fiber of my being, which I didn't even understand when I heard people say before.

I'm finally at peace. Finally at an understanding with God and the world that everything will always, always turn out as it should.

Sometimes, just after the laughter from my jokes wears off, I want to say to her, "It's OK. Everything will be all right. Just go where the wind takes you."