Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Chapter 8

I moved. Again.

And again i am reminded of this absurd imbalance within me to at once be a gypsy free to explore and welcoming of every adventure disguised as change, and to dig my toes into Mother Earth and set roots from my soles and soul. I am simultaneously accepting if not excited for what is next, and tired of not having a place to call "home." So the story goes...

Every time i have moved is like a new chapter in my life, as significant as the beginning or ending of a relationship, a career change, a quarter life crises (or three). Every home, no matter how temporary, becomes the backdrop for frames of change in my life; places for something, myself, to unfold.

I'll miss the setting of the last four months of my life: two sets of corner windows pooling with sunlight; original wood floors barren but for smatterings of paint from nights laced with whiskey and dreams; chalk strewn steps leading up to the "Goddess Lair;" a six year olds bedroom and a bicycle graveyard. If i was to title the chapter that this space was, i would call it "Self Love and Sad Truths: Confessions of an Honest to Goddess Wanderlust." (Wordy bit of business for somewhere i did hardly any writing); a chapter about transitions and sisterhood in a space so safe as to simply exist and feel and be.

When i moved in here, my lostness was disguised as wanderlust, coming home from a most catalytic two weeks in mexico and repacking for France in half that time. I was fully embracing being transient, having moved three times in three months prior to travelling. The next three months would be spent in a country whose language i didn't speak with no job and no real intentions other than to, well, escape. I'd given away next to all of my belongings and while overseas was prepared to stay and start the next chapter there. Yet when i thought of the lair while in Marseille, i could feel the idea of it satiate whatever desire i had to ground. If i was going to come back, at least i had a "home" to come back to.

The first months of this chapter were spent in culture shock. I felt stranded, misunderstood, lonely, upswept from the contented existence i had in France. i wanted so much so for this time to be temporary; to get through what i had to get through and get on the next plane back to Europe. I still want to do that. But not in a way that is running back to myself, rather in a way that is connected more deeply to myself.

That is what this space, and this chapter provided: the opportunity to look without blinking lest i miss a significant truth detail of whom i am. There were patterns to watch for, systems of survival to re then un-create, confessions to make, little peas of discomfort and fear to find under layers of falsities stacked like mattresses in a fairy tale. Because i entered into this home with as much gratitude for the welcoming arms that shared the space as i did non-attachment to any amount of time there, i was in this vortex where i wasn't living with a direction or purpose other than to watch myself in my own existence. And what i saw was that i was dreaming up the next chapters instead of participating in this one. Which was exactly where i needed to be: not here, emotionally, at all...

i was still in Europe and in Europe again. i was consumed by memories raw with sensation, numb to anything in my present, and emotionally investing in a future that i didn't know anything more about than it not being here. This chapter was written almost subconsciously--as if not knowing what was next but wanting it so badly had me so disconnected from what i was actually living and could be writing. In this way the chapter wrote itself, and now, as i sit on the floor in my new (again temporary) "home" its as if i get to read it.

Turns out its quite a beautiful little tale. One of late nights with a tribe of females i would walk to the ends of everywhere for. Pantslessness. Experimentation and meditation. There was a lot of ramen and not enough dancing. Reunions that made me aware of the immense capacity of humans to love. Conversations that revealed the immense capacity of humans to feel, see, and speak their truth. The pricelessness of listening, and being listened to. Awareness. People whose presence erases time and whose words erase doubt. People who saw me when i was trying not to be seen. People who loved me when i was trying not to be loved but needing it the most. People who let me see them and love them. People who as they read this I'm sure they know are those people, and will continue to grace the next chapters of my life.

And in writing about this so called chapter after it closes rather than while living it, i acknowledge that i was always there, and in choosing not to be only made the space more valuable.  So much of our lives pass in this way: only realizing the significance in a situation, a conversation, a decision, an encounter, a failure, a success, parallels and full circles until we are out of the wild immediacy of it and are allowing it to be acceptingly absorbed into our consciousness. As if while in the heat we don't feel the burn, but allow it to cool and it stings so rawly you cannot ignore your own aliveness. No matter how much regret you feel, or how caught up in your dreams, no matter if you are waiting for something or regressing into a previous state, no matter the level of contentedness or freedom you embody, you are the creator of every moment, every chapter of your life. You are exactly where you need to be and like some beautiful element of foreshadowing, your thoughts, feels, actions, and choices, are at once a product of where you have been and where you are going. You can exist harmoniously then, between a state of curiosity and creation of your next chapter, and resolute trust in the grounded genius of your own sense of self, as i am learning to...

Because: "wherever i go there i am"

Thanks for the lesson Chey. I can't wait to live out the next chapter with you.

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