God bless the broken road, y’all. Like actually. I’m writing this on my couch in East Nashville, 2:47 a.m., wearing the same hoodie I’ve had on for three days, dog farted and it still smells, and I’m eating cereal with a fork because all the spoons are dirty. Peak adulthood.
I used to roll my eyes so hard at that Rascal Flatts song. Like gag me with a fiddle, right? Then 2022 happened and the universe was like “hold my beer. God Bless the Broken Road
When the Broken Road Was Literally a Road (and I Was Stranded)
Summer ’22 I was delivering for DoorDash because my “real job” ghosted me after I asked for a raise. Driving some random county road outside Bowling Green, tire blows, I mean BLOWS—like fireworks level. Phone’s at 3%, no service, 97 degrees, and I’m sitting on the asphalt eating expired sushi from a gas station because that’s what my life had become.
I just started laughing. Hysterical, ugly crying-laughing. Because of COURSE this is where God bless the broken road happens. Of course.
The Detours I Kicked and Screamed Through (That Were Apparently “The Plan”)
- Stayed with a girl who told me on our third date she “wasn’t really feeling it anymore” but I was like nah we can fix this (we couldn’t)
- Took a sales job that made me want to yeet myself into traffic every morning just for health insurance
- Told my therapist “I’m good” after ten minutes because paying someone to watch me cry felt stupid (it wasn’t)
Every single one of those dumb decisions I fought tooth and nail? Yeah, those cracks are where I actually grew a spine. Annoying how that works.
Nights I Was Convinced God Had Me on Do-Not-Disturb God Bless the Broken Road
There were weeks I’d drive those same backroads at 3am just screaming at the sky. Windows down, humidity making my shirt stick, yelling “Your routing sucks!” at whoever’s in charge. Felt real mature.
But then… I don’t know, man. The light started leaking through the cracks. The job I hated taught me I’m done people-pleasing. The breakup taught me I actually like my own company (shocking). Therapy—when I finally shut up and stayed—taught me it’s okay to be a walking disaster sometimes.
Stuff I Wish Someone Slapped Into My Thick Skull Earlier God Bless the Broken Road
- “Why is this happening to me” is a trash question. “What is this teaching me” hurts but it’s useful.
- You’re gonna need grace refills like every five minutes, plan accordingly
- The friends who see you ugly-cry in a Waffle House parking lot at 2am and still text you memes the next day? Marry them platonically
- Your story doesn’t have to be tidy to be true
Anyway, God Bless the Broken Road I Guess God Bless the Broken Road
Still don’t have it together. My bank account is sending me passive-aggressive notifications, my dog thinks I’m his emotional support human, and half my plants are dead (the other half are on life support).
But I’m still here. Scarred up, little crooked, kinda cynical, but here. And weirdly… grateful?
If you’re currently eating gas-station sushi on the side of your own broken road, drop your worst/funniest detour story below. Misery loves company and all that. Or just comment “this is me rn” so I know I’m not the only hot mess.
God bless the broken road, fir this time.
Now excuse me while I go find a clean spoon… or just keep using this fork, who cares
