It’s midday on Sunday. In the back yard, grackles fall from the sky. They stride across the lawn picking and pecking. They examine the ground, looking down like inquisitive inspectors in black overcoats with their hands clasped behind their backs saying “hmmm, very interesting.” In the living room, a sports show, NFL Today or something like that, is on the TV. Guys, mostly former players, talk and shout in serious and gruff tones about who’s gonna win what what games. Meanwhile, my father listens to a foreign reporter talk about the latest developments in the Russian/Ukrainian war the way someone might have listened to the AM radio as they huddled in their dimly lit basement waiting for the bombs to drop from overhead. My stepmom wants to throw away some old towels and pillows and anything else she finds in the house that she doesn’t recognize as her own. She’s asked me twice about the food in the fridge and the cabinets. Twice I’ve reminded her that I’m still here eating some of the food. These questions make me feel like I’m at a restaurant (still eating) as they run a vacuum under my table and try to change the linens. While much of her puttering seems like unnecessary busyness, I’m not entirely unsympathetic towards her desire to “make progress” on cleaning or putting things in order or whatever it is she’s trying to do. There have been many times when faced with the prospect of change, I’ve chosen to dust the furniture and fluff the pillows.
I’m still wading through being in this no-man’s land… this space between being here and leaving. My daughter visited for the weekend and took with her most of the plants. I’m glad they’ll have a reasonable, maybe even good, home. Getting rid of these last few things, especially the plants (where most of them have stories behind them), feels a little like molting, like shedding a skin. Gone is the plant that my mother-in-law gave us. Gone is the plant that the ex-fiancee left behind. Gone is the plant that a friend gave as a housewarming gift that then spawned several other plants. With the rest of my possessions packed and stored away, I’m down to some clothes, some food, some personal hygiene items, a few books, and my personal electronics. I’m tempted to pack the car to see if it fits and to see if I need to buy a few small storage containers to keep my life orderly and compartmentalized for travel. I have a pop-up tent, a camp stove, and a sleeping bag being delivered. I still need to decide between using a percolator, a kettle, or just a pot to make coffee when I camp. I’m not sure what I’ll do for food when I’m not camping – especially if I want to avoid eating out for every meal (maybe I’ll find some hotels that have microwaves in the room, etc.). In this process of purging, I’d really like to avoid buying or owning more stuff.
I’ve gotten lots of advice on how I should spend my time when I leave and as I travel. I’ve gotten advice on what I should write about or how I should document the journey. I’ve been told that I should do a video series – to which I respond that I don’t do well on camera (have ya seen this mug?). It’s been suggested that I start a podcast – as though there’s a switch that gets turned on and instant podcast. People insist I need to find a way to keep in touch. I’ve also gotten of advice on how I should stay safe and what jobs I should be applying for and other places I should consider living. The advice, while given with the best of intentions, seems to be further proof of how uncomfortable most of us are with uncertainty. I think some of my friends and family are nervous for me – more so than I am. My typical response of, “it’ll be fine… or it won’t… we’ll see” isn’t received in the ambiguously reassuring way it’s intended.
It’s hard to explain the notion that I’m trying to avoid having a “stated purpose” on this trip. It’s hard to explain that I’m trying to be open to outcomes of all sorts or that I’m treating my life like a Bob Ross painting and mostly looking for happy accidents. There are things I expect to do as I travel, but I’m not doing many of them with any particular goal in mind. I expect to continue writing, but I’m not looking to develop an audience or become a travel writer (shit, I’ve been writing this blog for almost four years without cultivating an audience – why would I start now?) I expect to meet people and see things and take pictures and maybe even find ways to share those things, but I want to be free from any sense of obligation to do so. I want to be free form the guilt that follows if I forget or neglect to share. I expect to continue applying for jobs, but I’m hoping to let go of the pressure of not having one. etc. etc.
Having just said all of that, I have to admit that I’m also full of shit. It’s nearly impossible not to have goals (or at least hoped for outcomes). I am hoping to get better putting off future planning in hopes of being more present in the current moment. I am hoping to find inspiration in people, towns, and nature – which necessarily involves finding inspiration in whatever is in front of me. I am hoping to disconnect a bit. I am hoping to walk more, move more, and live a little more sparsely (consume less). I am hoping to get a little more comfortable with a new kind of solitude – one in which I’m out in the world more, one which blurs this line between alone time in the house and social time out of the house. I am hoping that by shaking things up this way, I’ll break out of lots of old routines so that when I do settle back down, there are fewer ingrained ways of “how things get done and how life is lived.”
It’s now Tuesday. This morning’s sunrise had lots of subtle pinks and oranges. As I sit at the dining room table, I can distinguish three birds chirping. My Merlin app tells me they are a Cedar Waxwing, a Black-capped Chickadee, and an American Goldfinch. A school bus rumbles down the neighboring street.
My parents left yesterday. The trash men didn’t pick up all of the trash that my stepmom had asked me to put out. I told her if we put too much out they won’t take it. We put too much out – they didn’t take it. She’s been trying to purge the house of fifteen years of accumulation in the span of a week, but she seemed unwilling to find alternatives to throwing things out (the towels could be donated to an animal shelter, the linens to goodwill, etc.). At this point, I’m stuck saying, not my problem. I’ve spent the past month finding ways to purge my stuff.
With the family gone, the TV is off and I’m moving about more freely – which also means I feel like I’m thinking more freely. I’ve made a to-do list and I’m trying to focus on the must-do vs. should-do vs. nice-to-do. I still haven’t planned very much. This weekend, I’ll see family and friends. A little less than a month from now, I’ll be at a blues show in Arkansas. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing between those two things. I recently suggested on a previous post that this feels like the calm before the storm… but perhaps there’s a better metaphor. As it turns out (according to google), many animals tend to get sluggish and slow before they shed/molt. This is the sluggish and slow part before whatever comes next.