Hey, They Call Me Connie…

In my mind, detours add 45 minutes to a 15-minute drive. Now, I understand that this isn’t always the case, but try telling that to the frustrated traveler in me, watching the minutes tick by as I inch through a maze of unfamiliar streets. It’s ironic how the paths we never intended to take often hold the most unexpected lessons, hidden beneath layers of frustration and impatience. You never know what hidden gem of a new location you’ll find racing to an appointment on a road you can no longer travel because it’s no longer accessible. 

The metaphor isn’t lost on me. I’ve come to see that these detours, in both the physical and metaphorical sense, are not just inconveniences. They’re essential. They force us to slow down, to take stock of where we’re headed, and sometimes, to question if the destination we were so fixated on is truly where we need to be.

Like anyone else, I’ve had my share of struggles. I’ve prayed and worked tirelessly for things that, in hindsight, God was gently whispering ‘no’ or ‘not now’ to. What do you do when you’ve poured all your effort into traveling toward a direction with a specific goal, only to watch it crumble before your eyes? How do you reconcile the dream with the reality, the plan with the detour?

I fought with that question for a long time, wrestling with the disappointment, the anger, and the sadness that come with the death of a dream. But over time, I realized something profound: the best lessons are often the most unexpected. It’s the detours that teach us patience, resilience, and the art of letting go. I’ve discovered what I now call the “art of release and flow”—a technique I’ve just coined in this very moment because, well, why not? 

For those who know me well, they understand just how challenging this was for me. I’m not one to give up easily. I’ve spent years nearly killing myself, trying to bend the universe to my will, convinced that sheer determination and grit would get me where I wanted to go. But life has a way of humbling you. It has a way of teaching you that sometimes, the only way forward is to let go.

Since embracing this mindset—this release and flow—I’ve found life opening up in ways I never imagined. I’ve met new people, discovered new places, and even tried new foods—amen to the new favorites! Releasing isn’t about giving up; it’s about making space for what’s meant to be. It’s about finding parts of yourself you didn’t know were missing, about realizing that sometimes the path you’re on isn’t leading you to where you’re supposed to go, but where you need to be.

There’s a statistic I read once that stuck with me: people who learn to let go of things beyond their control report higher levels of happiness and lower levels of stress. It makes sense when you think about it. Holding on to what’s not working only leads to frustration and pain. But when you learn to release, you create space for peace, for joy, for something better.

I came across a saying on social media recently: “You only die once, but you live every day.” It’s funny how a simple phrase can shift your perspective, can make you rethink what it means to truly live. I’ve been so accustomed to hearing “You only live once” that I never considered the inverse. While many might take this as a call for impulsive decision-making, my thoughts drifted toward the difficult task of living when it doesn’t feel fun, when the road ahead seems dark and uncertain.

I don’t have all the answers, and I won’t pretend to. Life is complicated, messy, and full of twists we never see coming. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the detours, it’s this: be present. Release your expectations of how things should be, and practice gratitude for where you’ve been rerouted. You might just find that the detour was the destination all along.

So here’s to the dead ends and the rerouting. Here’s to the unexpected lessons that shape us, and to the moments of frustration that ultimately lead to growth. And here’s to being thankful for the detours—because without them, we might never discover the places, the people, and the parts of ourselves that we were meant to find.