In which I write another Mission Statement. This was 4 days before I moved to Door County.
Today Grizzely Bear started playing while I was driving to Target. I've had that band on my ipod since high school, but before today I've never listend to a single song.
The indie soundtrack made me feel like I was in a Diablo Cody movie in which scene I had realized that my life is slowly unraveling before my eyes. I saw my reflection in the visor mirror. My pores were red and cluttered and raw. I could see each one through the translucent layer of skin and it reminded me of the long month I've spent sleeping on my friends Molly's couch, using her shampoo to wash my face and her sunscreen as moisturizer. If you think that sounds abrasive, ask me sometime about the 3 months I spent washing my hair with dish soap. I was more desperate then, and much more self destructive.
Despite my recently wretched visage, my life is not unraveling. At least, in a negative sense.
I've spent my time lately counting. Counting the the items on my "to do" lists, counting the sad words that no longer need to be said, and counting the days, hours, minutes, and sunsets until I move North.
This is what has brought me to this Target parking lot, writing these thoughts and mulling over the last few weeks that have passed since I closed my last blog, since I made the split decision to move out of my parents home and never go back, since I looked at the calendar and counted the days in order to find the earliest one that I could manage to move, and since I held my breath, pointed at May and said "I hope the 18th is sunny" and decided it would be a great day to start something new.
And now the week is here. 4 days until I move to Door County.
Without much explanation, and with little to no say from me, it seems in my blood to be a traveler. I don't know if I ever really decided it, if I ever got the chance to tell God "look, I'd really love a tiny home near a forest. 3 kids would be lovely, maybe some adopted? and 5 rescue dogs, cats and some chickens. And maybe even a few rows of vegetables. And I'd love to stay put. In that tiny home near the woods"
But fate has other plans for me. Plans on maps, and in boxes in my car, and on the edge of airplane's wings, and in the views underneath them. All I can surmise from these travels thus far is that every place has a song, and I'm to learn each one by heart so that maybe when I'm old enough, I'll understand the words.
I've lived in three cities in 2 years. I am headed to a fourth town that is meant to be a temporary residence by most who live there so I know, as I pack my things once more, that this will not be the place where I plant my feet. And as every bit of me inhales, preparing for another dive into another unknown, I feel unsteady. Nervous about the commotion of what's next. Uneasy about making new friends, about leaving the old ones, and about saying goodbye. again. And yet there is another place deep down, and when this place exhales it sighs the simple truth that this is meant to be, and that I am ready for it.
I didn't ask for a home in the wind, but I will take it.
And wherever I roam, I know home is just an adjective that you must find on your shins, or in your words or on your heart
or something.
The road isn't paved yet which is why it is awkward to walk on,
but I feel ready to move my feet.
Wish me luck.
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