“It’s hard for me to imagine just picking up and going like that.”
That comment was made by a friend yesterday and falls into the top 5 list of comments most-oft spoken my direction.
“Eh,” I replied, “it’s pretty much how I’ve lived my life. It’s old hat.”
And it’s true. I’ve no problem, in spirit and concept, picking up and going and planting myself elsewhere in the world. It’s my traveling nature meets adventurous and independent spirit. The nomad life is deep in the genes and I’m comfortable in that skin. Give me a horse, a yurt and a backpack and I’m good.
The challenge is staying put and that’s a complicated and personal issue that I’d dare not broach publicly.
Matters of movement are on my mind, spurred partly by yesterday’s conversation with a friend and partly by the awareness that I must make a decision about my next destination. The clock is ticking. It is now down to two. Each is viable, each a different story arc.
Oh, there’s so much more to this matter. So much more.
“Make a decision. Make a decision. You gotta hit the road. You gotta save yourself. Better your life. Go where the wind in your heart takes you.” My spiritual counsel speaks.
March brings not only spring’s arrival (in some parts) but my birthday as well. Spring 2011 brings also a birthing of a new chapter, long overdue. I can feel it. I feel it in my bones.
Actually, truth told, what my bones speak most about is dampness and cold. “Get the fuck outta the Pacific Northwest.” Gotta love the bluntness of those bones!
Just airing a few thoughts as I sit poised for massive changes. On a fence that I gotta get off of and a mere months away from handing to the universe my well-earned Get Out of Jail (Not Free) Card, packing up my modern horse, my Subaru, and leaving. this. behind.
And that’s how it is on this day of February 15, 2011 in Tacoma, Washington. Toodles.