I’m writing in reference to an assignments’ reflection questions…how has COVID 19 effected my mental…
I took the curtains down yesterday. This morning as we lay in bed watching the sky get light, we hear a train in the distance and the constant hum of people driving who knows where at 5 am on Sunday morning. Making or serving up donuts I suppose.
He says, good bye city and I begin to cry. Silently sobbing at the thought of leaving the people that have become my life. My goodbyes began months ago, preparing for this day. I understand the importance of ending things well and letting go completely in order to make the space for something new. The experience of that process can feel excruciating sometimes.
We went to eat at a restaurant I had just heard about and was excited to check out. Looking forward to it and our last city dinner. The wait was too long, I knew, for my companions, so we did not stay. A deep disappointment settled on me as I felt myself missing something. Isn’t that always the way… at the end….even with the most careful preparations and best goodbyes, when the end comes, there is a final feeling that we have missed something…we are going to miss something.
We load up today. We will drive east, away from my closest friends, from family and from a life that we each have enjoyed…an experience beyond my dreams. There’s a lot that makes up a good 25 years. I’m scared.
This morning I am scared.
Good bye tree house. Good bye kitties. Good bye Denver. You have given me an amazing and full life experience.
We load up and I step from room to room in gratitude. I cry. This adventure does not come without this part. I will fully experience the end, turn and move in a new direction with my husband towards a life we will make together. But, first this.
The kitties stay with me this last morning. I’d told them a few weeks ago that I was leaving. I’m walking from place to place in the yard…looking. Theo runs along next to me jumping and batting at my legs. The new owners arrive at 8 am. An abrupt good bye as their dog chases Mario. Hissing and spitting, he hops the fence and I don’t see him again as I drive away pulling the loaded trailer and waving as the neighbors gather around the miscellaneous items that wouldn’t fit in the moving van. My own truck filled with little notes from my 9 year old friend.
Transitioning through Missouri, we are at Dad & Ellen’s for a few days to rest. A stepping stone.
I sit alone now on the back porch letting my body rest and my broken heart heal from so many good byes. I am exhausted. Adam takes off with Dad for the farm. We each need a break from the other and time to feed our own spirits in our own ways.
I think today is the last day of summer as a weather change is moving east towards us. I will happily wear a sweatshirt tomorrow.
I sit and listen to the birds.
We’ve set out on this “grand adventure”….it’s been labeled…or maybe we said it. I don’t know, but that label makes a move like this less scary and more romantic…the stuff of dreams…and people seem to be inspired by this. Everyone imagining the courage of tossing their own lives into the air and setting off in a new direction. The ultimate opportunity for a do over…or a do it again…or a do something or nothing. My heartaches with all the good byes.
What on earth are we doing?
We’ve got a dream we want to pursue and it is requiring huge sacrifices that come with leaving home, community, business and place. We’ve tossed it up into the air with hugs, tears, letters, kisses, promises and head across the country. Seemingly romantic…but if you’ve ever tried to let go of anything…a job, your favorite cup, an old blanket that your grandma made, a pet…you have a peek into the fierce preservation of self and stuff that rears it’s head in the face of change. Suddenly the romance is out the window and it’s downright horrible. Wading through this alone is hard enough…it’s a minefield with a relatively new person in your life. Its especially difficult to love and embrace our differences when it’s 90 degrees outside and everything will not fit into the van…all the while saying the hardest goodbyes of all.
How do we find the space we each need to rest and heal our broken hearts in our own ways so that we can head east together. Step by step we go.
We’ll spend a week here with family, together and separate. As I sit alone on the back porch drinking tea and listening to the birds…writing…sitting. He takes off to the farm with Dad to mow, burn brush and use a chainsaw.
Hallelujah for this time.
This is the beginning.
The truck driver:
I used to live in a very large and constantly moving world. Everything in noisy motion and I’d always be looking out my window for quiet still.
I wish I had counted the number of boxes I alone had rolled up into the truck on that Saturday. I would have liked to have counted the number of individual items placed into the truck the next day, Sunday.
How much overweight is the load in the truck? Do the people who helped us know how grateful I am for their help, their support, the kindness? Will I ever move again after this one?
Rambling stories about what? Moving?
Changing jobs and cities and people?
I live in a very large and constantly moving world. I’m doing it with a partner.
She’s got her work cut out doing this thing, with me. : ) looking for quiet.
Identity, I was a truck driver. Currently, I am a…?
Explorer ? Yes. That’s what a friend said about himself. I’m taking that identity, the explorer. I’ll employ the navigational method of dead reckoning to chart the course, this house in the summer, this job when I’m older, this woman when I meet her… Maine, just before Winter.
This child when he graduated. This road when it turns. This stuff when it no longer serves me. Crazy jibberish talk, always.
I’m understandably filled with the turbulence of change. God help me : )
Are we there yet, I gotta pee.
I’ve emptied out my storage locker.
I’m takin the baby clothes. I’m takin some of the stuff from my son’s Mom’s time here. It’ll be archived in the attic.
Perfect. Some of the stuff was ritualistically burned in a fire at brother Matt’s as my Mom watched it being fed into the flames, this took a couple hours. Mostly old records, but still the past.
I reckon in my new patch of woods I’ll hear the plants growing. Good.
So very, very grateful.