If rooms reflect our inner state, my mind is a dump. Pre-adventurer self would wrinkle her nose at the sight of this messy (teenage American) room with piles of clothes everywhere, plus ziplock bags with garbage (because grocery bags haven’t brought about a need for one) and empty cookie boxes. Piles of unposted posts in this blog, from August until today. I’ve climbed a mountain, gone apple picking, hosted friends and family, escaped from a room (Mission Escape!), and gone through more bags of chocolate, cookies and cheese than is respectable for a single person. Among other things.
Life has been so much better compared to two weeks ago, two months ago, when the metaphorical airplane of my life was falling from the sky. But I’m exhausted from the months prior, physically, mentally, and emotionally. For eleven months my fighting jet has been soaring above the troposphere, engines burning, and burning out. No vacation, but pushing for the end of the year with the vacation in sight. But just when rest is about to happen, and the turbulence is calming down, the rug gets swept from under your feet, and everything is changing, again. Too many different images going on, sorry.
I’ve considered myself a traveler, not an adventurer. While some people have projects like diving (to save the environment), movements, pie businesses, daily drawings, food and lifestyle blogging, and sculpting, here I am, on the move, again. Time, place, and circumstance, I guess, is my medium and/or project. Technically life is the medium of everyone, whether by choice (or passivity), but the observable pattern of my life has been sudden changes that spring up on you with only a few weeks, or a month to get ready, then pack light and go. I’m a planner by nature, I like knowing what’s ahead a year in advance. When people send a spur-of-the-moment invitation, they become my least favorite people for a few minutes. Why life is like this is both life and me though, doing some crazy tango. Things don’t need to be this way, but if I’ll roll with it, then I guess I am, sort of, a crazy adventurer. Not the travel to the north pole kind of adventurer (yet), but maybe if we give it time. Ha.
This is all vague, I’d rather not give details yet. This is the time after the crash, and there is some relief in the wreckage. I need to pause, rest, put things together, then move forward again. I haven’t been taking care of myself, which is one of the challenging parts of being on your own. Even taking care of the dailies is a discipline, especially when you need to grow out of bad habits picked up from people, upbringing, contemporary culture. I know that I’m loved, but the reality when you’re flying solo, is that there will be times when, even if you know God loves and cares for you and all, you can’t help feeling like a tiny, struggling, speck far away from everything; and that even if people care from a distance, it’s welcome and encouraging, but doesn’t meet you where you need it to be. It’s quite lonely that way. Maybe this is why some people get into romantic relationships, so that they have someone to care for be and cared for in ways that normal friendships can’t meet.
I’ve put up my fight, and emerged with immense growth as a person. I’ve also come out depleted of energy and resources though, which is so frustrating. But it’s been worth it. The wind is changing again. It’s time to rest and regroup, then move forward into another (despicable, but can’t have it any other way I suppose) open-ended question. Onwards, friends.