Here is my submission to for this week’s Stories from the Jukebox prompt, Right Place Wrong Time by Dr. John, selected by Marty D. Snow.
“Whatever you are doing, that which makes you feel the most alive... that is where God is.”
- Saint Ignatius of Loyola
I know a lot about being in the right place at the wrong time. Really the phrase should be in my bio. The wasted chances, near misses, and cosmic jokes are my life story.
I have a great life, good job. I love my home. The steadiness and quiet—the routine. The predictability.
The same song in, same tune out every year.
I knew how the year would start. I knew how it would end.
Maybe a bump here and there. Sickness. Grief. Shock. Then back to baseline and I kept on trucking.
But a switch flipped this past year. I’d like to say it was something external.
An event.
A word.
A motivation.
It was not.
Something inside was sleeping and I woke it up. By accident, I think. Or I thought. Now I’m not so sure. I reached the edge a few times and I didn’t fall. Nothing shattered.
So I tried a new thing for a while. Then I dropped it.
And I tried something else. It fizzled.
So another thing.
Watercolor. And I stayed in my studio painting until 3 AM. I hadn’t done that in years. And I liked it.
Then I dreamed a dream of an eagle’s nest and I wrote a story about it.
I reread and re-wrote old poetry.
I did something like maybe memoir writing. I thought it was awful, but the feedback said otherwise.
Things moved. Things stirred. Things shifted.
And I thought that was it. I was becoming and rebecoming and each time it felt like home. I started pruning and shedding and paring. And I became.
I had a conversation about this with a friend. I said I thought that everything I became last year was it—the goal. But I’m now realizing that wasn’t—it was preparation for what is to come.
They said they’d just read those exact words somewhere. Something about Chinese astrology and the Year of the Wood Snake being about pruning, shedding, and preparation. And y’all. I don’t subscribe to Chinese astrology. I wasn’t looking to it for explanations or predictions, but the patterns were there.
Chinese wisdom talks about years of pruning followed by years of movement. Catholicism calls it Purification. Illumination. Mission. St. Ignatius built a whole practice around noticing interior movements before acting. And then there is St. Augustine’s theology that creation can awaken wonder, but revelation completes understanding.
For me, last year wasn’t about arrival, but about preparation. And awakening.
Only looking back, do I see that.
Discernment comes before Mission.
Last year I was discerning.
It was not the goal. It was not the finish line. It was just getting ready.
Last Spring, I cleared out my studio of tools and projects and art supplies I wasn’t using. I kept my watercolors and brought in a pink velvet sofa and lined the ledge with a forest of pink trees. Then brought in my old work table with paint stains and dents and pits. I write out prayers and tape them with washi tape to the table top. I call it my Table of Becoming. I write here every day.
I thought this table was the goal. Even though its very name is Becoming.
Listen. I don’t make new year’s resolutions. I don’t name and claim that this year will be mine. The last time I did that it was a lock-down with one-way grocery store aisles that I never mastered.
Like I said. I’ve always been at the wrong time. I was born ten days late. Got detention on the regular for being late to class. Slid in late to the SAT and had to beg to be let in. Late for work, late for church, late for faith, late for love. Late, yes, even for dinner—a sin against humanity—every single time.
Right places, wrong times.
But I’m rolling into this next year thinking maybe I didn’t miss my moment. I think I was becoming the girl who could recognize it.
No predictions. But 2026 in Chinese Astrology, it’s interesting to note, is the Year of the Fire Horse—associated with movement and forward motion, after discernment.
If this year brings some momentum. Some visibility. Some movement.
I won’t be surprised. I’ll steward it wisely.
I’m not saying this will be my year.
I’m saying I’m finally here—at the right time—and I’m paying attention.
Here’s the mixtape.
This Year Will Be Our Year — The Zombies (1968)
Right Place, Wrong Time — Dr. John
Same Old Song — The Lumineers
Let Things Go — Caamp
This Year Will Be Our Year — The Zombies (2021)
Same Old Tune — Stevie Tombstone
Everything is Gonna Be Alright — Drivin N Cryin
This Must Be The Place — The Lumineers
This Year Will Be Our Year — Foo Fighters
Here’s one you prolly haven’t read. Check it out over at Southern Writers Guild.
If you haven’t checked out the Jukebox before, you really should. Maybe start here:
You’re at the right place at the right time, Gray. You are right on time.
Probably everyone here's been late a lot