The other day I was flipping through my phone’s calendar, when I spotted “Ship Out!” written on a date in February. That’s when it hit me. Had I continued down a path I chose in the Spring of last year, I’d be shipping off to Europe in ten days, working as a college professor for the Peace Corps. I was accepted during the summer, for one of the highest positions available within the Peace Corps volunteer program. Needless to say, I was honored.

It was decision I was really excited about. So much so that I sold all my furniture and a majority of my belongings, and set up shop subletting my friend Katie’s apartment during the summer. I had it all planned out. Grab some teaching experience during the Fall, move back home at the end of the semester, and spend some time with family and friends before leaving for two years.

Whenever the Peace Corps came up, Heather and I would talk about it, discuss waiting for one another, how we’d make it work, etc. I planned out my 60 vacation days, where I’d spend them, how I’d try to see her each time I came home. Every time we spoke about such things, we’d get upset, and change the topic, usually talking about bunnies or whatever made us happy. I mean, I was sure we’d be okay. I made up my mind. This was it. I was going.

Then something changed.

When my grandfather passed away over the summer and the whole family got together, I was subject to the traditional gauntlet of questions. What was I doing with my life? How was my love life? How was school, so on and so forth. After my excited announcement about the Peace Corp, one my uncles sat me down, and spoke to me about his tour of duty in the Vietnam War.

He didn’t speak about the horrors of the battlefield, but instead, spoke to me about the pain he felt being so far away from the ones he loved. He talked about the unbearable distance between himself and my aunt, how they almost didn’t make it, and how he watched his friends march around with broken spirits caused by broken hearts.

He asked me about Heather.

“Is this one special?” He asked. “Do you think she could be the one?”

“Yes,” I answered. “She definitely is.”

“Then don’t go,” he said, looking at me from across the dining room table. “Stay here and make a different choice.”

“But…” I began.

“Trust me…” He said. “Choose love.”

So here I am. I’ve got a good life here in Philadelphia. I enjoy my job and the fantastic people I work with. My career in academia is beginning, I’m paying my dues teaching part-time and I’m sure something full time will eventually surface. I have a wonderful family, great friends, and a cute, semi-famous chinchilla. So many people that I love, including one very special girl.

My uncle was right. Choosing love? Yeah, definitely the best choice ever.

You will always be my first choice Heather. Always.

And maybe. Someday. I’ll help you shovel snow off your car.