The old pros and cons...and we have a winner

I started this post a week ago when I thought I would be unloading my condo in a hurry, for less than I wanted. After thinking it over my answer was "no to the uh to the no no no." A week later I am enjoying the afterglow of accepting a better offer, for more money, and a less stressful time frame. Life is good.

Zoe is having anxiety. I tried telling her what Ann said about trying to turn it around and call it "excited" instead. I tried to reassure her that I've got this. But I have to put myself in her shoes and see that it took me 41 years to get brave enough to move away from my home town. I cant imagine how scared I would've been at her age to be starting over in a new town, new school. Hopefully this won't traumatize her, but rather inspire her to take risks when she's an adult.

Back to me. I'm ready. Last night I gave myself a night off to just bask in gratitude. Today I begin the process of eliminating all the stuff. Before I was married I had so little stuff, I used a Corolla to move to my first apartment in the city. A few keepsakes and a cat. I've amassed so many heavy furniture pieces, hand me downs. Even after dumping so much stuff while moving out of my marital home, I ended up with piles of junk. Turn it into cash or squeeze it into the dumpster, that's my job for the next 7 weeks.

Cursed bicycle

I brought my bicycle to Michael's house last spring. We went for a nice ride on a warm day. Storm clouds were approaching. He was nervous about going out when the horizon looked so gray. But I was focused on the cool breeze and blue sky to the east. He stopped and took a phone call while I circled him, like a bored child. Soon we felt the drops. They polka dotted our tee shirts and pant legs as we gained speed. We returned to his house and locked the bicycles in the garage, where they remained for the rest of the year. 

By now the air's gone out of the tires, the chain is getting rusty, brakes are shot. It's a dirty, dusty metaphor for our once-promising relationship. It's as good as forgotten to me, locked inside a garage with an old Model T that's out of gas and no one's really sure how to start. For someone who said he cared, he sure lost interest fast. As did I. I miss that bike but it was a symbol of my past, and there's a newer, smoother ride on my horizon.

In motion

The photographer is coming to shoot photos inside my condo. I spent the entire weekend cleaning out the dust and ghosts of the past 3 years, and then some. The clumps of history bound together in bags and bundles were unraveled and launched down the trash chute unceremoniously. Polished patches of floor are visible for the first time in a year. Clothes are washed and folded. Bed sheets are smoothed. It's a shame I only get this organized when I'm about to bail. Wonder what it is about staying still that makes me get sloppy and sad. I crave a stable place but when I find it I feel smothered.

I reached out to Barb, the realtor, last week. I had known she would be the one I would call, and was working up the mental strength to do it after spring break. But in that moment I was thinking this is so hard, that I had better do it while my blood was pumping with caffeine, because I might easily talk myself out of it if I waited.

Just like that, I let go and let my soul take over. My soul was lingering in that mountain paradise where I spent the previous week. My body was back in my home town where life is predictable and still. It was obvious who should win out.

My soul is happy today, knowing I'm headed for higher ground with my dear heart Zoe in tow. I'm even starting to think about the lucky duck who gets to live in my condo next. I think I imparted some good energy inside those walls.

I'm the White Rabbit

My anxiety is triggered by stress, which is triggered by feeling a time crunch, which is pretty much how I feel all the time. Every morning I watch my daughter grow a little more into a woman. Every time I try to squeeze in a chore before I have to run for the 8:37 train. Every time I buy a garment thinking I'll have to hurry up and lose a little weight before I wear it. Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping.

And as my dear coach would say, what would I be without those thoughts? I'd be living in the moment, fully aware; keenly aware of how dissatisfied I am living from train to train. The solution could be as simple as resigning from this job. I'm more than ready to do that. I rehearsed the entire meeting in a dream the other day. I already know what to say, I'm just waiting for the right day. It will be here in a matter of weeks. It doesn't have to be wrapped in any other reason except the main one, that I no longer feel like I'm a good fit. I finally have options. For years I had to follow the course, just to survive. Now I have some money saved, a home, a car. A plan. Friends. Options. Boulder is waiting with open arms. My baby girl is practically a small adult with friends and goals of her own. We just have to pack our bags and go. Baby steps, in order to reach the land of giant steps.

The first steps are already happening. I need to make some conscious decisions now. Get the bills paid, set up the realtor, pack some boxes, sell some things, write some letters, call the movers, get the cat tranquilizers, refill my human tranquilizers, do yoga every day, pray for the realization of my dream...to live a peaceful life in harmony with nature. I can do this.

By the end of June I will be on my way to my new mountain home, spreading my unique energy and cultivating a new life. I will have everyone's blessing, even if unspoken. Ann pointed out how I'm still so stuck on the idea that I'll disappoint those around me. She said "how far does it go with you?" As in, how much do you allow yourself to believe that negative story? I told her "you don't wanna know." 

Today I made coffee. In the past I have relished giving someone else that job. I convinced myself at some point that it tastes better when someone else makes it. That's still true. But I didn't see anyone else who was willing to do that for me today. I waited for the water to boil, and I glanced at the Easter basket on the counter. I remembered Zoe saying, "it's too bad the Easter bunny didn't come to this house too." I'm not trying too hard to keep the myth alive. She saw the Easter baskets in our luggage when we left a week before Easter. She knew I was the one who put out the candy. But she lets herself believe it because-what a joyful thought that this sweet creature magnanimously shows up every year with treats just for her. I thought about what I'd tell her if she put me on the spot and asked if the Easter bunny really exists. I would've said that it's a story we tell little kids to see the joy it brings them. When we're older we accept a new role, as the giver of joy. We get our own special kind of joy out of it then. We just have to work a little harder for it, because we can!

I thought of how I'd give myself the same advice about the transition I'm making in my life. I came back to my home town after the course of my life changed 6 years ago. I knew it was temporary. I had to reset, rebuild myself, revisit my ghosts, make peace with all of it. The ghosts are all disappearing, one by one. Even the divorce, once the biggest shame and disappointment of my life, is small in comparison to the things I've achieved since then. All thanks to my decision to revisit my childhood home. I did what I had to do. Now I'm on the black diamond run of my life. I rose up to this point because I earned it, and the reward is in the ride. Falls and all, I'm in this for the sheer thrill. I wasn't meant to sit still at the bottom of the mountain, I was given this powerful body for a reason, to make and do, talk, see, wish, push and pull. There's another mountain beyond this one, and another lake, and another friend, and another sensation, and another love. I'm in motion, stopping is not an option.

Oh man.

I woke up in Boulder yesterday. Today I woke up in my own bed. Still can't believe that I triumphed over my short attention span to make that 16 hour trip in one day. That's something out of a presidential campaign itinerary. Glad I don't have to drive for a living. I was getting awfully goofy at the end.

Colorado. Rocky Mountain High. And today, Illinois. Flatland Hangover. Totally having a morning after guilt trip. I can't believe I got so swept up, again. You and your bluebird skies, shimmering blanket of powdery snow, beautiful people, healthy food, charismatic artsy social scene. When I'm there I'm so preoccupied with being accepted by your culture. I completely lose myself, in a good way. I think about growing my hair long, wearing Lululemon clothes, drinking artisan cocktails. It's a fun costume to wear. But so exhausting. This time I went so far as to rent two tons of ski gear to prove I can play the part. I was even reminded that some people just go to the ski lodge to hang out. But no, I jumped right on it. All I needed was an example and I followed it the best I could. Ann even complimented my skiing skills. I was copying her after all. Not that she realizes that.

I'm just trying to figure out why I do this to myself. Is there any part of me that is naturally drawn to the Boulder lifestyle? Can we be totally honest? Check this out: I paid $3 for a bunch of cilantro at Whole Foods in Boulder. When faced with the same price in Chicago I responded by saying hell no, and I biked over to the Cermak Mexican Market where I bought 3 bunches for $.10 apiece. It's the principle of it. But there's no Mexican market in Boulder, at least not that I could see. There's a lot of privelege in Boulder, and not much room for someone like me who is scraping by as a single working mom. I've been fighting this sentiment. It sounds like I'm giving up. I can't have gone through all this therapy and sacrifice just to decide it's better to stay put. But when I think of all I'd be giving up in this homogenous town with its yoga moms and biker dads, each one more meticulously groomed than the next...it sounds like eye candy and no substance. Now that's not true, Ann has found many people with substantial interests. And good looks. So it happens. But then there's me. I work full time so social opportunities are few and far between now, let alone in a faraway town where I'd be the sole caregiver for my daughter.

Then there's my daughter. Her closest friends live in the lap of luxury in Boulder. They don't flaunt it, thankfully. She can't help but want what they have. The truth is that we will barely have enough money to afford a roof over our heads, and the constant reminder of our lack of wealth is very real. I looked at a studio that cost about the same as my 2 bed/2 bath. Wake up call. No laundry, no walls. One room with a kitchen, bath, and a closet. I remember when I moved in with my ex and I thought I was done with that lifestyle forever. I can't possibly go back, not with a 9 year old as my roommate.

Time to be honest, dummy.

The irony

The aggressive throat clearer at work is at it again. For about 12 weeks, she has been hacking, barking, gasping, sighing, croaking and generally eating away at everyone's patience. Today it was as if she drank a bunch of milk to increase her phlegm production, smoked crack, and had a new business plan to flesh out for all of us to hear in great detail...and then aggressively and continuously cleared her throat for the entire day at intervals of 5 seconds to 5 minutes apart. The fact that I named my blog "Clearing my throat" has come back to haunt me. It was my other aggressive throat clearing coworker who first uttered the phrase, sparking my imagination to create a place where I could "clear" out the garbage, and try to get at the heart of the matter.

The real pressing matter...AHEM...AHEMMMM!!!!...is that I need to make a plan. I'm painfully aware of my ugly history every day when I walk into my office. I'm not embarrassed by it anymore. Not like when I first announced I was getting divorced. I do feel that I've outgrown the environment. I'm afraid to make a move because I've become so accustomed to hiding out. But I sometimes daydream about looking back at this self from a new vantage point, and maybe even patting that old self on the back for doing the brave thing by leaping into the abyss.

Making friends with ghosts

For years I longed to be alone. I was in a loveless marriage, feeling like my life had been reduced to slavery. Punching the clock, trying to fulfill everyone else's needs, losing sight of my own. Till I couldn't do it anymore. I missed who I had once been, before I was defined by all the detritus of adulthood. When I got my wish, as these things always go, I missed all the clutter that padded and protected me from the rocky road of solitude. My journey became dark and treacherous when I was finally alone. I'm still struggling with how to navigate this unfamiliar path.

Today I woke to the usual cries from my needy cat. I scolded myself in my mind for spoiling her, and for rewarding her demands with almost constant affection. It was still dark outside, and I debated taking some ibuprofen. Headaches had plagued me all week, and trying to fight it seemed futile, but I swallowed the pills with the foul-tasting water from the faucet. I pulled my hair back, threw on a fleece shirt, and walked out the back stairs to grab a coffee to further medicate myself. It was so gray and dreary, quiet, still...and without thinking, I exited the store with my warm drink and walked toward the clouds, in the direction of the rising sun, which I scarcely believed was somehow rising behind that colorless curtain.

My walk took me past my old therapist's office. Past the blackened snow piles at the fire station. Down the street where I used to catch crickets to feed my lizards. Like a nostalgic scene in a movie, my mind's eye obscured the generic beige town homes, and in their place I could envision the untamed grassy plot that used to surround the old greenhouses where flowers and onions were grown for a hundred years as the town took root.

Past Mayren's beautiful bungalow...I was fairly sure I saw Mayren jogging up the stairs in a long night shirt, stopping abruptly as if she recognized me. I walked up Milburn, then back down Evergreen, admiring the holiday decorations that lingered in the fog. I wondered why that foreclosed house was empty, and why the fog was so much thicker in that backyard.

I said hello to a woman, same age as my mom, who was pulling the leash of her stubborn husky who wanted to sniff around the electrical pole some more. I realized I was the only person walking without a dog this morning. Maybe I need a dog, I thought. I made my way to the playground where I spent countless afternoons as a kid. I thought about the day we packed up the Feigns' cats in the Burley trailer and walked them to this park, how our kids laughed and rolled around in the grass in their pajamas in the setting sun, the day before our family trip to Colorado. I plucked a needle from a pine that sparkled with water droplets, and ground it between my fingers so I could smell the winters of my childhood. The last bit of thawing snow crunched under my feet. The grass poked up bright green through the slushy ice. It had been preserved like a salad bar garnish since the warm spell before Christmas. I left the park and passed the church where a year ago I attended a group therapy session for families of addicts. How open my eyes had been that day.

The snow that had been piled next to sidewalks and driveways was shrinking, twisting, growing black sooty stubble. I sought out the formations that looked like black and white renderings of the hoodoos I saw in southern Utah. I saw one that was a perfect little arch. Just big enough for a cicada to walk through. I bent down to get a better look, and I uttered a little "huh," like I would if I was about to point it out to my companion.

And just then, I didn't feel alone. This little nature walk was all for me. The surprises were my own, not for anyone else to notice. My imagination, swollen with sweet lingering memories, was doing cartwheels, soaring high over the earth, dancing freely, singing answers to my questions, holding both my hands and swinging me like a child over the cracks in the sidewalk.