an adventure (vacation?) for the mind.

i came to utah to work on some things. to work on myself, i suppose.

to grow in many directions all at once.

and as i attempt to figure things out, i can feel my mind rearranging itself. taking down all the old books and bowls and folded photos. restructuring. new shelves. different dimensions.

but this restructuring is somewhat... terrifying. i find myself dreaming of things i haven't dreamt of in years. half-nightmares. waking face first in a water-logged pillow struggling to catch my breath.

these dreams, these dreams i can deal with.

it's the slow, inching, creeping of my memory away from me that brings on terror. it's as though someone is covering over the green of the all england tennis club with a protective tarp. that slow and steady cover up--preventing the ping-pong collision of past and present.

and i am left waiting for the rain.

but the brain is pretty smart, no? and it knows when remodeling is in order.

so come on rain. the playing field is protected. and i'm ready for a little slip-and-slide.

over and up.

i'm sitting her looking out at the mountains. from where i sit at my borrowed, wooden desk they eclipse my window completely. and in turn swallow me whole.

these are the mountains facing east. new york lies beyond them. and believe me when i say, that metaphor is not lost on me.

there was never any doubt about this. this little expedition i'm on. there were concerns and moments of terror, yes. but that divinely-inspired voice that lives right there in my gut was very clear. go, it said. go, and life will unfold, you'll see. trust me, it ever so calmly pressed into me. wrapped me in its message.

and so here i am.

but even with God's blessing or goodwill or what have you, i wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and wake up three months from now. i longed to nod my head once and with the genie's blink become the person i'd been promised at the end of all this.

i just didn't want to have to do the necessary work to get there.

but the mountains, of course. and their all powerful metaphor. a gigantic mountain range between me and the life i once lived. or the life i will live. or the life i dream of living.

this eruption of green plopped right there. right in front of me.

when i was little we'd take road trips through the western united states. and my mom would always say, imagine how the pioneers did it. how did they do it?

and the thing is i sure as hell don't know. those covered wagons. entire families in tow. rocky terrain. leaving behind all that is known, not only heading toward a new future, but carving out a never before seen path along the way. can you even imagine? the courage of it. startling.

the only way over the mountain before me is up. one small step in front of the other. a metaphorical tapping in to my own inner pioneer.

so okay. here goes...

okay.

i have arrived in utah where i will be for the next three months.

right now three months seems like an interminable amount of time to spend in a place where i don't really know anyone. in a room that feels awfully tiny, awfully white, and awfully far from home.

but the mountains are large and green and one feels like they might just reach out their hand and actually touch them.

so i'll let the mountains do their work on me. and i'll be okay.

even if i have to cry a bit along the way.

like yesterday. on the plane. because i don't know that i've ever been so frightened. or felt so far away from what i had once imagined for my life.

or like today. because i miss my parents (and some really darn good tex-mex food).

but parents (and lupe's) will be in texas when i return in september.

and new york will be on the cusp of autumn when i finally make it back.

and who knows where life will be. and that's the exciting part, right?

i have another confession to make.

i am an unbelievably fearful person.

so much of my life is dictated by what scares me. and there is much, much that scares me.

on top of that i embarrass easily.

these are not good qualities. i know. these things preclude me from doing so much. from taking risks and having fun and getting into just the right amount of trouble.

but i'm working on it.

and as i work on it i cling to these words:

"there is no security on this earth. only opportunity."

oh, yes, of course...opportunity. ok, i choose opportunity. and i'll work on the fear thing along the way.

quote by general douglas macarthur

two bags.

there's one large suitcase sitting next to my bedroom door right now.

and an overstuffed blue tote.

my room is littered with all those things i'm just not sure what to do with.

to take this sock or not?

this piece of paper--can i throw it away?

i know it's only three months. i know that.

and yet.

it just feels so... so long.

and so i pack my life into a large black suitcase and one blue tote.

my life. {deep, long exhale}

i know this is the right thing.

in my gut i know it. i know good things will come from this.

and yet.

i can't imagine the other end.

the three months feel as they might just swallow me whole.

and they might just.

and that's okay.

i know that.

and yet.

i can't bring myself to move that large black suitcase and one blue tote to the hallway from which i'll leave tomorrow morning.

from which i'll open our heavy black door, cross some sort of threshold, and close it quietly so as to not wake the others.

perhaps it's that i'm afraid of who i will be--or won't be, what i will know--or won't know when i return. black suitcase, blue tote in hand.

and right now this little expedition, this... trudging through slush of my own self-doubt and deep-brurried belief, feels awfully lonely.

worth.

he was older. dated often. jewish. born and bred in this city of skyscrapers.

i was--well, am--still young. an inexperienced dater (to put it mildly). catholic. from a city situated on bayous.

so many differences.

if i had known these things--if he had known, perhaps it wouldn't have begun.

the age alone made it difficult.

but i liked him before i knew. and when i did know, well, then it became just a number.

i asked him early on if he'd ever been married. ever proposed to anyone. those were the things that seemed important. he said no, asked if i needed to know why not. nope. not important, i said.

later, without prompting, he said, i'm not a settler. and never had more perfect words been spoken. and i loved him for that perfect, unprompted response.

and yet. that became the thing. the thing that nailed me in the end.

it was when i realized i was just another girl not worth settling for that my heart began to break.

perhaps, that's too simplistic. but that's what i felt.

i miss him. and i think about him. more often than i'd care to admit. certainly, more often than i'd care for him to know. but maybe the hardest thing has been coping with the knowledge that for him i just wasn't worth it. which becomes am i worth it? which of course, yes, yes, i know that i am.

but it's never about knowing so much as feeling, is it?

and for a while there i felt...unworthy. mediocre. like the kind of girl you can't bring home to mom.

don't get me wrong, i was not looking to meet mom. i just wanted to feel... i just wanted to feel. i don't know. better than that.

the ego takes a hit. and it's coming back to yourself that takes some time.

but a week ago when american pie came on the radio it stirred the low-country girl in me. and i shimmied around my room chasing the sunlight and laughing at my oddities. and the journey home to self trucked right along.

but it takes some time, this truckin'.

it surely takes some time.