On Solid Ground

It's difficult to admit this, but I fell down this week. Hard. It wasn't a real fall, though the sensations were identical - off balance, uncertain of my footing, and then the slip - the adrenalin fueled, belly-flipping freefall of a vertical drop. It's panic of course, and it ends the very instant you hit the ground.

Yes... for all my talking and thinking and planning for a return to California... I lost my sense of direction. And for all my bright smiles and hopeful statements about the move, I called myself out as a liar. I was terrified.

Postcard scenes of California began to look like faded amateur Polaroids in my mind's eye and the thoughts crept in - perhaps too dry in summer, perhaps drier still in the job market, too expensive, too different, too "not New England."  With every new cost and hassle of UHauls and dollies, moving companies, gas prices, storage units and car transports, my recollection of why I decided to move in the first place faded.

And so it took this jarring fall - and several wise and loving friends and family - to get me to the quiet place that is always accessible. The space within that is untouchable by fear and always bouyed by hope and a sense of adventure.

On the ground, stunned and disoriented, I got to the core of what I was looking for.  California isn't a magic pill that will make life seem more right or exciting.  Life is always right.  Always exciting. But I do want to test this hypothesis and see what the litmus test shows. And I want the option to come back. 

So most of the original plans are now scratched.  My things will remain in a climiate controlled storage unit in Connecticut for an unspecified time, the car packed for transport with the essentials: bike, computer, and pictures and paintings.  Then on Aprli 26, off to California for several months or several hundred moons - where I will see how it feels to live again in a climate that feeds my soul year-round, visit my family, look out at a different ocean and marvel at its vastness.  And say yes to new experiences and this next grand adventure. 

How far are any of us willing to test a hypothesis? To trust our insticts and go find out rather than question or possibly regret?  I know that in my case, I will always fight fear.  And I will always question complacency. And sometimes falling down is the best possible step on my path. It forces me to be really present - and to adjust my direction.  What have we got to lose?    

~ Big hugs and thanks to those who helped pick me up this week.

My Ford Oracle

Around the new year, I had a startling experience in the parking lot of our local mall. It was mid-day, sunny and bright. Key in, brake off, pulling away... and I felt my right foot fall forward. Pumping nothing but air several times, I looked down to see that I no longer HAD an accelerator pedal. It was literally lying on the floor, looking as useful as packing peanuts the day after Christmas.

There was no time to make sense of it - wherever my car stopped, it would stay. So I slowly pulled to a space a distance away from other vehicles and pressed my brakes.

"I've never seen this happen before," said the tow truck driver, the mechanic and the nice man walking by. No kidding. I won't bore you with details. A simple cable broke. But it would take several days to fix over the holiday weekend.

This meant none of the usual "busyness" for me - no errands, no gym, no post office. No bank deposit, no dinner with the girls, no grocery store. I had been moving at mock speed for quite a while... neglecting yoga and writing in lieu of holiday parties, a wedding, too much work and recently a new freelance project, and a quasi intriguing new dating prospect.

The quiet allowed me to think about how I spent my days, and for that matter, how I wanted to spend my future days.

Once my car was returned, I lurched back onto the freeway of life, gaining speed. But I did make some changes: stepping down from a board that no longer fed me, trading shifts of after-work events with a colleague, and within a month and a half... making the life-altering decision to leave my home in Connecticut to return to California where I grew up.

This was a big one. Some days that decision feels right - other days I question it to its core. Why leave the only "true" home I have ever known? Am I heading for a new adventure or running from my fear of complacency? Can I really break up with Connecticut while I am still so in love with her?

And thus was my state of fear and longing when my car once again "spoke." I arrived at my girlfriend's house two days ago and smelled something hot near the front of the hood. Oh god. Now, as I tend towards paranoia, my friend lovingly suggested that I wait until the following day to panic. Good plan. The next day, the faint odor became a reeking burning rubber and scorched asbestos stench. Probably nothing.

This morning, my mechanic explained that my left front caliper froze in the locked position, burning through a significant portion of my brake pad and hose. In other words... even as my foot pressed on the accelerator, moving me towards any and all destinations... my brakes were on.

Of course. The life metaphor. The Ford Oracle. The hatchback soothsayer.

I get it - I haven't fully opened her up on the roads and said, YES... let's do this thing! Let's go to California and see what she has in store for me. Rather, I acquiesced to a series of road bumps and said, OhnnnKayyy - I'll go... like a grumpy six year old not ready for bed.

I know that now is the time to embrace the free-fall and let the road take me. Brakes off. Pedal down. Shifting to a higher gear... with a giant smile on my face. And we're OFF!