Souls journey, p.1
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       Soul's Journey, p.1
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           Joanne Johnson
Soul's Journey


  Soul’s Journey

  Joanne Johnson

  Copyright 2011 by Joanne Johnson

  Crystal Waters Publishing

  Olds, Alberta Canada

  www.crystalwaterspublishing.com

  Copyright 2012 Joanne Johnson. All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, transmitted, in any form, or by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHERS NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and an resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party web-sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Intranet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials, your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  First published by Crystal Waters Publishing 02/01/2012

  ISBN: 978-0-9868866-2-1 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-0-9868866-3-8 (e)

  Dedication

  Thank you and love to my loving family who shares me with my love of writing, teaching on spiritual level, and connecting people with their angels. xoxo

  Realization

  My story begins one month before my thirtieth birthday. That was about the time I started to analyze my life; reviewing my choices. Deep down I knew I needed a change, but I had no idea what that might be. This led me to question the choices I had made regarding my life path. Should I have taken a different direction like going to school, or was destiny creating the way for me? My siblings had excelled in their careers; they all were very successful and well respected. I, on the other hand, had been content with making specialty coffees at a franchise down on the corner near my house. People were always asking me, “Jordan, what do you want to be when you grow up?” and for some reason, I had assumed that I had all the time in the world to decide, until now. Reality had hit me like a lead balloon.

  It happened at my usual Sunday brunch with my sister, Megan. I was meeting her at eleven, but of course I had just woken up and it was ten-thirty. I would have to hurry to be there on time. She was a high-priced legal lawyer and was amazing at her job. She hated it when people were late and wasted her time; however, she was usually late herself. I did not want to show up late, because then our whole conversation would focus on my lack of respect. Our Sunday brunch would turn into a Sunday lecture; as a lawyer, she went there easily.

  Megan seemed to be able to get in the heads of all the people she questioned. She had an unsettling way of knowing when they were lying, or hiding information. She also had the ability to lead people into a line of questioning that exposed all of their deepest, darkest secrets. I had never stopped to think that she might use her skills on me, until now.

  Miraculously I made it exactly on time, which was a new record for me. I sat in the café awaiting my sister. It was a beautiful sunny day and I lifted my face to bask in the warmth of the sun that was shining through the window and filling my body with happiness. I must have been deep in thought because I didn’t hear Megan approach ten minutes later.

  “Jordan, I am sorry I’m late, I got caught in traffic. We had an emergency meeting this morning at the office downtown. I have a client that I know is lying, but I can’t prove it. I tried to step down, as his legal counsel, but for some reason my firm won’t allow me to.”

  I stared at her quietly, wondering to myself how long it would be before she let me get a word in edgewise. Today seemed to be starting out like every other Sunday we had brunch.

  She was dressed in her typical sophisticated style, with a beautiful, white silk blouse. My sister has always been the epitome of professionalism and she exuded intelligence, power and class. Her strength of self-discipline was reflected in her trim 5’7 build, and her silky blond hair always emanated the way she was feeling. Today was no exception, her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head and it illustrated to me just how well put together she was. From the moment I made eye contact with her sparkling, self-confident, blue eyes, I felt under dressed and insecure. She had this complete package of a perfect life, or so it seemed.

  Funny, when I’ve been with my family, I’ve always felt inadequate in every way. I sat and somewhat listened as she rattled on about her client and I could not help comparing myself to her. I was in blue jeans, and a white t-shirt. My Sunday morning attire was typically relaxed and comfortable. My long brown hair, that reached the middle of my back, was up in a ratty ponytail, and shoved under a ball cap. I couldn’t even recall if I had pulled a comb through it this morning. I was about three inches taller and much shapelier than Megan was. Considering that I towered over most men, the majority of my dates were intimidated by my height. I had learned at a young age that most men wanted to be my friend, just not necessarily my boyfriend.

  As I saw it, Megan should be extremely proud of her life. The only thing that I could see missing was that she did not have someone who she wanted in her life on a permanent basis. She had not found that perfect someone with whom she could be happy. In this regard, she and I were the same. Megan would go through boyfriends as often as she changed her socks, and most men were lucky if they saw her a second time. I remembered her once referring to men as ‘disposable chew toys’.

  My thoughts traveled back to my last boyfriend, seven years ago. I thought he was perfect, at first. He was about six feet tall with lots of potential and treated me well. He called when he said he would and always asked me what I wanted to do. Then, out of left field, the honeymoon was over. He was never on time, he bitched about his work, and he treated me as if I was a doormat. Sometimes I even wondered if the sex was worth waking up for. I held on about three months longer than I should have because I had great hopes that he would change into the potential version I wished for him to be. What did I expect? He was a salesman after all. He had sold me on his product (himself), but there was no guaranty once the purchase was completed.

  “Jordan, are you listening?” Megan asked with that high-pitched annoyance in her voice. Startled, I pulled myself out of my thoughts to pay attention. I had to say something to sidestep her criticism.

  “Yes, I was just thinking about my birthday in a month. I can’t believe I’m going to be thirty.”

  The thing I have noticed most about my sister is that she assumes what your feelings are and then directs the conversation according to where she thinks it is going. “I knew you were going to have a hard time with turning thirty,” she began. “Look at your life! You have always taken the easy path. You have never really excelled at anything. You have no passion for anything and you continue to fill the void in your life with other people’s emotional baggage. Look at all of your friends. They’re needy and are always immersing you into their dramas. You step into their lives to save them from themselves.”

  I tried to speak, but she continued.

  “Furthermore, are you not tired of holding everyone’s hand through their life and watching yours fly by? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  I felt as if she had slapped my face and I wanted to deny what she said, but I couldn’t. I was the oldest of three children and the only one that had not pu
rsued a ‘career’. I had thought that being a coffee barista was a great job… until now.

  “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but sometimes we all need to step outside of our bubble to see what is really going on,” she continued. “Do you even know who you are yet? You’re like a chameleon. You become what people need of you, but you struggle with who you are, and you never stand up for yourself. I have always wondered why you use humor in difficult situations. You don’t seem to know how to be serious. When faced with a difficult decision you always run and hide in your hole.”

  What was she talking about? I don’t use humor to deal with difficult situations! My shoulders tightened up as if I was being disciplined, and I glanced around the room hoping for an escape. Seeing none, I begrudgingly continued to listen, saying nothing. She always knew how to monopolize the conversation. I watched in silence as she continued spewing forth criticisms and polishing her cutlery.

  The waiter approached and I watched in horror as she ordered. “I will take your house salad with no tomatoes or onions. I would like the dressing in a cup on the side; your dressings are not as fresh as you advertise. If my salad smells of meat this time, I will be reporting it to the manager on duty. I want bottled water, room temperature, not chilled.”

  I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Her behavior was always like this. I saw the stress lines form on the waiter’s brows as he looked my way. I had to give him credit though; he handled it better than I would have.

  “I will have a cheeseburger and fries. Tap water is fine with me. Thank you.”

  I couldn’t help but feel sorry for our waiter. He quickly brought our drinks to the table with shaky hands. Before starting, Megan squirted hand sanitizer liberally on her hands and sent her water glass back to the kitchen three times. It wasn’t clean enough for her bottled water.

  “Megan, just drink from the bottle,” I said. “Don’t worry about the glass.”

  “I am paying good money for the meal and I want a clean glass! That shouldn’t be too much to ask for,” she replied. “This is what I was talking about, Jordan, if you see yourself as a second class citizen then so will everyone else.”

  She was making me very uncomfortable. I would have to leave our waiter a large tip for putting up with her. I worked in the service industry, so I knew exactly what our waiter was going through. What was she yapping about? I didn’t see myself as being a second class citizen! As brunch continued, I wished I could have been anywhere else but there. I have always been the type of person you could outright insult, and then I would beat myself internally after the conversation was over for not defending myself. This time was no different. I grinned and nodded as if I were listening, all the while feeling like a daft, silent fool.

  When our lunch came, I was looking forward to some peace and quiet as she ate, but no, that would not happen today. She began to complain about a man she had met yesterday in the elevator. “I was in the elevator and this man stepped in. I heard later that he was a mob boss named Bruce something-or-other. He tried to start up a conversation with me. He stared at me as if he knew me and asked if I liked antiques. Of course, I said no, because I did not intend to have a conversation with a complete stranger. I just looked ahead hoping his conversation would cease, however, he kept asking me questions about all sorts of things: my background, where I was from, and so on. I skirted around his questions until I got off on the floor I needed.”

  “Later that
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