Small hiatus

It is an interesting experience, reading about your life from the perspective of your traveling self. She seems a different person-one full of humor, time and comma splices. This post is almost exactly ten years from the last, and I had forgotten what it was to be (abroad, travel, me?). My mom always said that watching Hook inspired her to stay home with her children. Therefore, that movie has had a piece of my mind for a long time, but I was living the perspective of the child. Now, I think of that movie and I am Peter. Not Peter Pan, but the disenchanted, castrated, Robin-Williams-man in the beginning of the story, who had forgotten how to fly. It's not to say that I"m ashamed of the life I"ve led for ten years. I am proud. I found an amazing man, (re)connected with my family, got a Master's, learned grammar and syntax, happened upon a bulldog, and had a June Bug. So what does adventure feel like in one's 30's?

I used to feel travel in my scalp; I can remember the excitement--the thrill of getting to explore and imbibe the energy around me; my scalp tingling was my nomatic spidy sense. I was a sieve; none of my energy seemed to come from my person; I just experienced joy as it passed through me, borrowed from my surroundings. Now, I feel heavy, which isn't necessarily negative. Is it the feeling of groundedness? Is it the weight of being the steward of my own emotion? Is it overbloat from living in a world that is not tailored to my definition of spirit? I learned a lot in America, these past ten years: I know that you should spell out numbers ten or lower. I know that the American public education system is an indoctrination into shift life. I know that sentences should not be split with commas. I know that a mortgage can feel like a noose and a lifeline. I know the deep security of a happy marriage. I know what it is to follow my body into a natural birth. I know what it is like to look at a baby's face and cry in waves of joy. I know what it is to contribute to a community. I know how to listen to understand. I have found rhythm in the kitchen. If 20's travel is sensation on the skin, living withint family feels like nourishing pressure on the muscles, a thundervest. But the scaffolds we used to build this life are starting to feel like weight. I think one can appreciate the scaffold even as they buckle beneath them. And this is what the process feels like now: the repaired machine that and starts to move underneath its mechanic's restraints, sending its bolts and metal flying as it becomes nimble and flexes its power. We have sold almost all of our things, and I don't miss any of them. We are defining and clarifying our life in order to create complimentary systems on the bus. Others are saying goodbye to us, though it doesn't feel that way to me. Outside of leaving Ohio, I've been transitory leaving other transitories. We all understood the ta ta for now: I'll carry you with me as I go. But then again, those other relationships were not underwritten with consistency, as they seem to be now. There is a guilt in this move that I haven't felt before; it's like I've violated the commitment to keep cycling deeper into daily rhythms. But also, I'm starting to feel light (with a pelvice made of stone?). I wonder if this next life can be the balance of the two halves. To feel weighted at the feet, whilst cherishing the sensual pleasure of wind in the hair (or in Jake's case, his beard).