- Get excited about making a blog
- Try to start blog
- Realize that I can’t just sign up and it’s all complicated and shit
- Make a new e-mail probably
- Publish introduction
- Post two or three pithy posts
- Do nothing for a week plus
- Write a post apologizing about not posting
- Historically, nothing much after that.
My plan, this time, is to take step nine off that list. I do give myself a little room, given the fact that I’m leaving the western hemisphere for good in a few weeks, so my schedule is a bit tight. Still, discipline in writing is important. Write every day. Waiting for inspiration is a suckers game; get it written, and get it published. Not everything you put to paper is going to be important; hell, it might not even be particularly significant. Doesn’t matter. Write. Train yourself to get in the habit.
Still, I’ve spent the last week being embarrassed by the outpouring of love and support from my friends and loved ones. I wish I had the proper words to express my gratitude to those who have held me, looked me in the eyes, told me they believed in me, told me how proud they are of me, got me drunk, took me to the movies, danced in the streets with me, and on one occasion braided my hair.
Here’s the thing.
I hear a number of phrases. “You’re so brave to be doing this.” “I’m so proud of you!” “You’re going to flourish! This is a great idea!” “Moving is almost always a good idea!” I appreciate the sentiments, and they’re always coming from a place of love that leaves me in awe. But…I don’t share the same excitement, I suppose. The thing is, in my current state of mind, moving to Dubai has the same emotional impact on me as, say, moving to Cleveland.
Don’t get me wrong; I am thrilled by the kindness and warmth of my loved ones who have invited me into their home. I’m looking forward to being a day-trip away from Europe, and being able to explore a greater portion of the world than I ever have before. Not to mention the fact that getting the hell out of Asheville and away from the situation that drove me from my home town will be a relief. However, my excitement is intermittent, and I’m not at all sure what I’m doing is courageous.
For one thing, I’ve never bought into the footloose lifestyle as the best and only way of living. Don’t get me wrong; I love travel, and always planned on travelling the globe. However, I also believed in rootedness; in being tied to my community, in always having a home base, which, in my case, was Asheville. Imagining travelling the globe was thrilling, but I always planned on coming back to the 828, to the streets and skylines, the mountains and rivers and trees of my home. Now that I am abandoning Asheville indefinitely, an idea I never truly contemplated, the idea of sleeping, eating, and living somewhere else is…how to describe it. It’s alien, but impending. One city, in my mind, is very much like another, now that my home is no longer my home.
For another, I feel like courage would be facing down my circumstances at home and continuing to make the good fight. I am running away from my problems in a monumental fashion. I’m leaving behind my family, all my political capital, my reputation, my purpose, my network, and my hometown, along with my broken heart, because I can’t seem to cope with what has happened. When one is faced with difficulty, you can change the situation, accept the situation, or leave the situation. I’m leaving, and it’s not in my power to change, but I can’t help but feel that bravery would be accepting the situation.
On the other hand, I’ve spent much of my life “accepting situations.” My heart, my life, my work, was put on the back burner in order to support others. I kept silent in times of pain to make other folks lives easier. I put my life, my ambition, and my dreams on hold to help lift my loved ones up, or hold their hands during a downward slope. I’ve swallowed my pride and my hurt to grin and bear it, pretending everything was okay. I’m not sure if this was better or worse; I simply know I cannot continue, at this point, to maintain my stiff upper lip.
At the end of the day, I suppose, it doesn’t matter; brave or not, I’m going. I’m certain the excitement will build, and the pain will dull, when I begin to pack my life with new and exciting experiences. It’s just difficult to get into that mindset when you aren’t you, anymore. When your defining features are, in fact, what you’re leaving, along with a city. My heartbreak has literally opened the world to me, but I haven’t found the space for gratitude yet. I’m not proud of this, but I am aware of this. I’m trying to wrap my head around it, look for the silver lining, put on a happy face. It’s just…difficult.
Eventually, these posts will be happier, or at least more interesting.