Direction

A needle on a compass wobbles and spins, constantly redirecting itself toward the arctic north.  When I was born I came out spinning, as my umbilical cord had wrapped itself around my neck three times.  They twisted me and twisted me so that I turned rosy pink and cried instead of icy blue and silent like the northern tundra.  I nearly died, but soon grew into a happy baby who seemed to be going everywhere at once.

As a child, I realized my hair is perfectly straight, save for wispy curls around my ears.  My right shoulder is higher than my left.  I always have bruises mapping my travels and tumbles upon my legs because I am so clumsy.  Never quite balanced or perfectly symmetrical; always slightly skewed and vaguely off-kilter.

Like the compass’s needle, I require constant readjustment, rethinking, and reevaluation.  Those tiring wobbles and spins are just pulling me upward in life, toward my north.  I fear the day when I feel perfectly balanced and still–how will I find my direction in life?

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