Stories

Journey

September 18, 2012

September: moving out, moving in, ending my job, looking for a new job, missing old friends, meeting new friends. Needless to say, it’s been a busy month. The other day Quincy had his grandpa’s pick-up truck in the city to move furniture into his new place. The seats smelled like old oil & the unfamiliar scents that had settled there while driving down country roads with the windows down. He picked me up at my apartment that night where boxes (weeks after moving) are still waiting to be unpacked. The whole house has an unsettled feeling. The used furniture mixed with the empty pantry and sterile walls is less than inviting. I think I’m just beginning to understand how much energy & love goes into creating a home.

As I sat down in his car I could feel a weight in my lungs. He asks me what’s wrong and I shirk the question playing true to my nature of saying nothing, but acting in a way that suggests otherwise. I can feel it now. A word that I know I will continue to struggle with over this year,ย lonely.

I blurt out, “I’m tired of telling myself that everything is o.k.”

It’s a relief to say out loud. By admitting I’m not one thing is my first step to recognizing how to become something else. No matter how many inspirational quotes, daily mantras, or runs that I weave into my life there are some days that come out bleaker than others. There are days when there is a storm that stays in my chest no matter how bright the sun shines. I am starting to realize now that it’s not the number of positive to negative days that I have, but how I react to them. How I intentionally shape my actions to move forward while remembering to stop & admit to myself what it is that I need to move on from.

There is something about dusk & buses that goes well together. After a busy week in the city & a weekend of family commitments in New Hampshire, Quincy and I were on our way back to the city packed with a new bag of CSA veggies and cleaner lungs.

I steal a window seat and plug in my headphones to stare out & watch the trees on our way back to Boston. The thing I love about travel is that you are nowhere & somewhere all at the same time. It is as if you are suspended in motion. In a life like mine it’s rare that I take time to settle down, but traveling forces me to sit. Forces us to be seat, and sun, and tree, and partner sleeping on a shoulder.

The journey never fails to teach me something about myself – about letting go – opening up and being vulnerable. My good friend Sasha sent me a talk about vulnerability last week that has been replaying in my head quite often. I know I don’t tell her, or others, how much they keep me going, inspire me to be better, to do more, to live fuller, as often as I should. As I am on this bus feeling breath and somebody else’s heartbeat, I know that I got to where I am, right now, because of those small moments of vulnerability that I let myself have.

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  • Keeping you in my heart, friend.