On February 28, 2015 I walked out of what I was taught to be my home. After 9 on and off years of misery and happiness, trying to get out and then returning without a choice, I left. I had responsibilities that day and no resources to go with, but in an instant moment of impulse, I packed a bag, put on the first clothes I saw, and walked right out the front door. No words were exchanged, nothing was said, so I counted my steps to focus on the path ahead instead of the troubles behind me.
After 1700 steps, I reached the end of Malbon Road. I looked left then right, and decided to go right toward a local 711. I kept counting to 100 then beginning again and again. I tried to keep track but I lost count at about 3800, when I finally caved and called my grandmother. She was naturally very worried and wanted to come retrieve me, but I wouldn’t allow it and didn’t disclose my location to her. I asked her not to call my other family members because at that point no one had known I was gone yet.
I finally saw the 711 after the last curve in the road and felt like I had been walking for hours, although it was only about two miles. The 30 degree weather and lack of food in my stomach made me dizzy when I reached the concrete parking lot of the gas station. I stumbled in and bought pretzels and two waters. I called my boyfriend to see if he could come get me so my family wouldn’t see me on the road as they went to work. He agreed and I proceeded to walk across the street to a spot where I knew there were benches and hardly any people.
Once he arrived, and I spent 3 hours in his car at the beach while he was working, I decided to go into the restaurant to attempt to write more of my book. Another 5 hours with an unsuccessful venture, and barely anyone in the joint, I met up with my old friend…RUM…
These older women were polite enough to listen to my story of how I ended up three drinks deep in the middle of a crowd of people a generation or two older than me. We exchanged information and by 10 o clock I was drunk and care-free of the fact that I had ripped the seams of my family relations and ruined 4 months of liquor sobriety.
A hang over and a half the next day motivated me to see it has being ‘home free’ instead of ‘home less’. It made the situation temporarily better. Yoga, ted talks, and dark chocolate fueled the day of recollection. I tried for the next 4 days to relax and not think of everything I couldn’t say to my family. How they wouldn’t listen or understand even if I wasted m breath to tell them. Screening the calls and texts that weren’t worth the stress of answering or returning. Eventually there was contact but only over texting, so we really haven’t talked yet in my eyes. Texting is cowardice form of typing.
I had a job interview lined up, and things seemed to be turning out alright, so I returned home for a brief 20 minutes to gather some clothes and food, then we went off to my grandmothers.
Here, it is definitely a 180 from the home base in the country. We’re in a mostly older generation suburbia with an elementary school behind our court. A school I attended from kindergarten to first grade. All of my creature comforts have been stripped, including access to a car, open air away from the city, well water without fluoride, my nest of peace I had created after being discharged from the hospital. I don’t have much space for anything, I have two drawers for clothes and one shelf in the cabinet of the garage for food. Yet I am happier than I’ve been in a long time, environment wise. So the launching of a renewed blog has taken way that will document this specific adventure of making a home where I once had one. And adapting my usual rituals, habits and activities while helping my grandmother adjust to life as a widow.
This will be the same blog, but with the focus and intention I started with. On this Full Moon, I will utilize the Virgo energy to learn my lesson and invoke the energy needed. I’ll be back up to begin with my first “official” post. ❤
Artwork by Martina Hoffman & Imagarcade