An occasional series based on stuff that hangs in my room… or my heart.
When I was seven, one of my cousins faced a serious decision: stay in college, or leave and marry and follow the man she loved who was of a different faith. Nearly everyone told her to stay in college. My father was different. “Follow your heart,” he said. She did, and fifty-odd years later, she and her husband are still happily married.
I’m analytical by nature. It doesn’t take me long to make decisions, but the key considerations for me are typically all about facts and figures and results and outcomes. My heart? That’s so far down the list of factors that it seldom figures into the equation.
I think, though, about the times I followed my heart, and they generally worked out. Twelve years ago when I moved to the DC area, I picked this neighborhood in no small part based on its proximity to the highway with the best access to see the man I loved. While that relationship has since ended, it was still the right thing (the man and the neighborhood). I followed my heart rather than advancement opportunity in a recent professional decision, and so far, so good. I follow my heart in writing devotions and about women saints–goodness knows, I’m not following the money on those paths–and it brings me joy and peace.
My father gave out a lot of advice, much of it good, during his long and complicated life: Don’t burn your bridges. Get up early and go to bed early. Find a pull-through parking space. Don’t stand in the door when the heat/air conditioner is on. I’m glad he told my cousin to follow her heart. I’m trying to do more of that.
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