I know I haven’t written for a while, and every time I think about my best friend blog and what we should talk about, I draw blanks or inspiration for short, silly posts – not the dramatic episodes I know you are all used to.
But the truth is, things are going pretty well. I mean, I don’t want to get ahead of myself and have you think that life is AMAZING and EARTH SHATTERING, that the sun shines only on ME, and the stars twinkle to the sound of the Superman Theme Song. No, nothing to that extreme. Mostly, it seems that I’ve come to terms with the usual, the ordinary; I enjoy the taste of the medium hot salsa. Rather than fighting, fighting, fighting all the time for something or other, I’ve almost got the hang of enjoying what is around me, what I can figuratively and realistically touch with my own hands, and this knowledge both makes me feel content and sad at the same time.
One of the aspects to my personality I have always felt was so true to ME was my inability to accept the average. Like my body LITERALLY couldn’t stomach the sour and bitter taste of the everyman. I probably put up so much resistance during my first two years at my last job that I maybe just wore myself out. Like a baby who can’t sleep through the night, who is finally left by her parents to wail in bed until she knocks herself out. I can only imagine how Roy and my Mom felt the last couple of years – just waiting until the baby tires herself out into sleep.
And then suddenly, I come home happy to have put in my 10 hour day. Pleased with myself for going to the gym at lunch. Proud that I squeezed in 30 minutes on the cello. Stoked to bake lemon bars for a park outing with my friends and their kids. Satisfied that Roy and I painted ONE WALL in our bedroom makeover. Happy to go to bed with my gato and the entire cast of the West Wing.
Honestly, this all feels pleasant.
When the fuck did I think living a PLEASANT LIFE WAS ACCEPTABLE?????
Obviously, sometime in the last 33.5 years.
So, I get a call yesterday on my drive home from a soul sister who has made a BIG decision in her own life, and that choice is called relocation. She figures that if she can get her job to let her work remotely, she can move to Central or South America, live like a Queen on her US salary, and rather than travel, per se, just move, relocate.
(CL is silent….just for a moment)
Wow. Move to Panama. Live in Costa Rica. Move to Argentina if the mood suits you. How f-ing rad?!
I should immediately want to follow her, right? I mean, when she’s telling me this, the fits of jealousy must be washing over me in waves so tremendous that I’d prefer to die at the bottom of her sea than continue my drive back to my home to spend the evening painting and organizing t-shirt drawers. Everyone, including me, is holding their breath waiting for the inevitable phone call/email saying that I’ve snagged my passport, my Rucksak (from Daisy), and Elvisita has left the country. I did just get a new passport after all.
And no one will be surprised when this happens.
But it won’t. Not now. Maybe not for a loooooong time. Why not? WHY NOT????????
Because I don’t want to go.
Traveling is a hard, lonely, introspective, selfish, all-consuming way of life that is incredibly tiresome in its own right. But even more than the worry about money, being robbed, left on the side of an abandoned road in the middle of the night, stuck in a war torn country, there’s always the unsettling and yet raw obsession with restlessness. It’s the thing that keeps one moving, searching, hunting, watching, listening, and using intuition to find the next best place, the right crew, the most stunning sunrise, the most undiscovered beach, that life changing moment.
But it’s work. Hard work.
And maybe I just don’t have what it takes to fly by the seat of my pants anymore. Maybe my days dirty in a shack have finally passed, not just from my repertoire, but from my MUST DO RIGHT NOW list. Is it right or wrong that I’m excited about plans to build our own home, how I’ll decorate it, what I’m cook in the kitchen for my first dinner part? Am I not the same person because I want to have prestige in my profession, promotions, bigger pay checks, two week holidays, and whatever else comes with this lifestyle??
To be fair, I know that this is also yet another stage in my journey as an International Superhero. One more step to climb in the process of living life. A life in the United States, apparently. And I need to keep the knowledge in my heart that for the DECADE that I did everything that I wanted to do when I wanted to do it and now, things are different, and therefore, I finally am as well.
I still have the Peace Corps, the Foreign Civil Service, and the belief that I can also RELOCATE to somewhere exciting, but this time do it with my family.