You End Up Where You're Heading - Jimmy Rex - Author
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You End Up Where You're Heading
BY JIMMY REX + CAMERON CARLING
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You End Up Where You're Heading
BY JIMMY REX + CAMERON CARLING
You End Up Where You're Heading - Jimmy Rex - Author
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You End Up Where You're Heading
TWO POTENTIAL PATHS
PATH ONE
When the alarm goes off, you can’t believe it’s morning. Another day you’re not ready to face. You check your phone, pushing aside the book you’ve been meaning to read on your nightstand. Your feet haven’t hit the floor yet and your boss is already yelling at you through email. 

Why do you keep going back? 

After a rushed breakfast and too little time with your family, you’re on the road for the thirty-minute commute to the office. As you hit the freeway on-ramp, all you can see are brake lights. Thirty minutes turns into ninety. You go from sitting in your car to sitting at your desk. More email. 

The picture next to your monitor of you and your friends at Yellowstone reminds you that you still haven’t gone to a national park in all fifty states. After the baby, you got stalled at twelve. And then it was hard to get vacation. And the flights to Alaska are so expensive. Maybe next year. You crack open the single-use plastic containing your lunch. The turkey sandwich is drier than usual, so you settle for the chips. The guy next to you on the park bench is sweating profusely, his shirt sticking to his chest. You’ve lost your appetite. 

Back to the car. Sit. Back at your desk. Sit. Afternoon staff meeting. Sit. Your boss asks a question but it’s more of a directive, “Can you have the quarterly report done by end of day?” The call home that you’d be late was received icier than usual. There’s barely enough time to do all the yard work let alone have a date night. Back in the car. Sit. All the lights seem to be on in the house as you pull into the driveway. The mortgage was more than you could afford, let alone the electricity bill, but interest rates were so low, your dad said you’d be crazy not to go bigger. You look up and down the empty streets. Everyone inside, safe and sound. It’s Wednesday. Spaghetti night.

Again. 

TWO PATHS
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
WHICH ONE MAKES YOU FEEL MORE ALIVE?
PATH TWO
You’re already awake when they knock on your door. You lock eyes with your mission lead, and he gives you a confident nod. You’re only a few steps out the door of your Mexican border-town motel when the beachside drug pusher offers you weed. You decline; you’re looking for underage girls instead. But he’s got you covered for that too, you just need to find boss Carlos.

The adrenaline is building in your body. 

It’s good to be back. You rushed out without breakfast, but undercover missions rarely follow a schedule. You were supposed to meet Carlos thirty minutes ago, but it’s turned into ninety. You can’t sit down; the alley you’re standing in is covered in urine and garbage. A black SUV with dark tinted windows pulls up and the brake lights engage. Two armed guards emerge who seem like they shouldn’t have even fit inside. You’re scared, but the thought of having a successful rescue calms you down. Your stomach growls as the negotiation for the “party” drags on. You’re thankful for the Spanish you learned on a previous mission as you haggle over the price per girl and the preferred location to make it seem legit. The guy standing across from you, an ex-Navy SEAL, briefly touches his shirt. You pray they don’t see any of the hidden cameras. Carlos asks you a question, but it’s more of an invitation, “Can you be back in two weeks?” 

The night arrives and Carlos parades the forty girls into the room. 

All the lights are dimmed. You’re standing next to a handful of Special Forces guys in bad Hawaiian shirts. When the code word drops and you get “arrested” along with Carlos and his crew, you revel in their surprised faces. Every one of those girls, safe and sound. It’s a Thursday or Friday, but it doesn’t matter. 

A few hours later, you hop on a plane back to the States, excited for what challenges the next day might hold. 
You End Up Where You're Heading
TWO POTENTIAL PATHS
PATH ONE
When the alarm goes off, you can’t believe it’s morning. Another day you’re not ready to face. You check your phone, pushing aside the book you’ve been meaning to read on your nightstand. Your feet haven’t hit the floor yet and your boss is already yelling at you through email. 

Why do you keep going back? 

After a rushed breakfast and too little time with your family, you’re on the road for the thirty-minute commute to the office. As you hit the freeway on-ramp, all you can see are brake lights. Thirty minutes turns into ninety. You go from sitting in your car to sitting at your desk. More email. 

The picture next to your monitor of you and your friends at Yellowstone reminds you that you still haven’t gone to a national park in all fifty states. After the baby, you got stalled at twelve. And then it was hard to get vacation. And the flights to Alaska are so expensive. Maybe next year. You crack open the single-use plastic containing your lunch. The turkey sandwich is drier than usual, so you settle for the chips. The guy next to you on the park bench is sweating profusely, his shirt sticking to his chest. You’ve lost your appetite. 

Back to the car. Sit. Back at your desk. Sit. Afternoon staff meeting. Sit. Your boss asks a question but it’s more of a directive, “Can you have the quarterly report done by end of day?” The call home that you’d be late was received icier than usual. There’s barely enough time to do all the yard work let alone have a date night. Back in the car. Sit. All the lights seem to be on in the house as you pull into the driveway. The mortgage was more than you could afford, let alone the electricity bill, but interest rates were so low, your dad said you’d be crazy not to go bigger. You look up and down the empty streets. Everyone inside, safe and sound. It’s Wednesday. Spaghetti night.

Again. 

TWO PATHS
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
WHICH ONE MAKES YOU FEEL MORE ALIVE?
PATH TWO
You’re already awake when they knock on your door. You lock eyes with your mission lead, and he gives you a confident nod. You’re only a few steps out the door of your Mexican border-town motel when the beachside drug pusher offers you weed. You decline; you’re looking for underage girls instead. But he’s got you covered for that too, you just need to find boss Carlos.

The adrenaline is building in your body. 

It’s good to be back. You rushed out without breakfast, but undercover missions rarely follow a schedule. You were supposed to meet Carlos thirty minutes ago, but it’s turned into ninety. You can’t sit down; the alley you’re standing in is covered in urine and garbage. A black SUV with dark tinted windows pulls up and the brake lights engage. Two armed guards emerge who seem like they shouldn’t have even fit inside. You’re scared, but the thought of having a successful rescue calms you down. Your stomach growls as the negotiation for the “party” drags on. You’re thankful for the Spanish you learned on a previous mission as you haggle over the price per girl and the preferred location to make it seem legit. The guy standing across from you, an ex-Navy SEAL, briefly touches his shirt. You pray they don’t see any of the hidden cameras. Carlos asks you a question, but it’s more of an invitation, “Can you be back in two weeks?” 

The night arrives and Carlos parades the forty girls into the room. 

All the lights are dimmed. You’re standing next to a handful of Special Forces guys in bad Hawaiian shirts. When the code word drops and you get “arrested” along with Carlos and his crew, you revel in their surprised faces. Every one of those girls, safe and sound. It’s a Thursday or Friday, but it doesn’t matter. 

A few hours later, you hop on a plane back to the States, excited for what challenges the next day might hold. 
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