I have...or should say "had"...a pair of jeans that I adored. Termed as hip huggers, these jeans fit my butt and quads perfectly without leaving a huge gap between the material and my waist line. I wore these suckers every chance I got. I dressed them up and dressed them down. I eased them on during competition season and forced my way into them during the off season. Well, maybe that was the problem...that forcing my way into them. Tears in the denim began to creep in and before I knew it, it looked like someone had slashed my jeans like one would slash tires. I had holes where there shouldn't be holes in jeans, if you get my drift. Between that fact and a popped button, the jeans were useless. But they remained in my closet on the off chance that I might wriggle into them once again and reminisce of the relationship we once had...me and my jeans...we were tight. Literally.

I let go of them this past weekend. Threw them out. Well, not technically. They went into the bag of clothes of which charity eventually claimed ownership. Those darn jeans made into the "for charity" pile and then went back on the hanger in the closet. Were tossed once again in the "for charity" pile and then made their way back into my heart and the closet. This went on several times until finally I tried them on one last time, admired the way they looked, wriggled my nose at the huge gash appearing in the crotch area, and realized they were not meant for me anymore. Why I gave them to charity, I don't know. Most girls won't want to run around with a hole in the crotch of their pants (well, not most respectable...and even most unrespectable girls), but maybe someone could fix them up, patch them, and make them close to what they once were. Close...but different.

I couldn't do that with Dallas anymore, though. The city that fit like those old pair of jeans had too many holes worn into the memories, and no matter how often I tried on the idea of remaining in the city I had grown up in, of remaining in the apartment I had lived in for eight years, I could only see the holes and the popped buttons and the stubborn zipper and the worn fabric. It was time for a new pair of jeans...and a new city.

I moved to Los Angeles, California this week. This might be a shock to some of you, but if you have paid attention to my journal entries since this summer, then you'll see that I've been searching for a new direction...a new road, if you will.

The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence,
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

When opportunity presents itself, opens a door for you and leaves it open no matter what other circumstances arise, aren't you the least bit curious to see what is beyond that door? A lot of critics of Frost's poem argue about whether the narrator's decision to take the road less traveled truly "has made all the difference." One might say the narrator is being sarcastic, even stating that no matter what decisions are made in life, one will fulfill a destiny that is already set in stone, and so there really is no difference in the long run. But others would argue that each choice we make in our lives presents a new future, and thus each and every move we make is just as important as the next and could redirect us, thus allowing us to create our own destinies.

I am so fascinated by this topic, and I guess I'm a guinea pig of my own fascination, for I made a decision that has countless opportunities for growth and rebirth...or at least I'm hoping it does. When I try on those old jeans, I know where the holes are; I know they might tear a bit a more. I know how the denim feels against my skin. I recognize the smell of the detergent. I go through the same steps of wriggle, wriggle, jump, jump, bend down and stretch the fabric (which is really what caused the tears in the first place), and a few more jumps and wriggles until the fabric went in place and I could zip up and button away. That is Dallas. I take the same route, have the same job opportunities, meet the same people, and am still far away from someone I care very deeply for.

Moving to the Los Angeles area (I'm in Valencia...a very nice suburb in the mountains just north of LA) is a risk. It's different. It's outside my realm of comfort. This decision sat in my mind and would not leave; back and forth I went, comparing the cities, comparing the ramifications of staying...of leaving. I had to put everything into perspective, examine the relationship I am in, which was the main trigger for this move, and determine what I wanted out of life. I finally realized that the images that continued to nag my mind when I thought of leaving Dallas were not of any great consequence, and were actually items that might hinder my freedom to be me in the long run. But moving to LA...what a world of possibilities!

I walked through my door of opportunity this week. I would like to think I'm in control of my own destiny. But if I'm not, then I want to make sure the ride I take to reach the end that may already be devised for me is the best one I can create. With that being said, I'd say being in 70-degree weather the week before Christmas is a good way to rev up the engine and start my drive into the future.

And working out in Gold's Gym in Venice does wonders for the body. I'm actually crippled with the calf workout I did two days ago. And I have a renewed sense of accomplishment in the gym. My focus around the iron is growing stronger with each decision I make. Maybe it's because my mind is becoming more like the very weights I use to grow my muscles. Stable...consistent...and ready for used in anyway possible to reach my goals.

Jodi