Relying on Inertia

I don't really know what I am here to write about. I just felt it was time to write.

I'm still somewhat on the same page as I was with my last blog, and feeling very Kerouac-esque. Especially now, that I have decided to head home, a week from today, for sure. After many intense and overwhelming swings back and forth from one side of the decision to the other, I'm holding on tightly to this one, and letting inertia carry me through.

Yes, I get the shakes every time I pack, or even think of packing. I have somehow managed to pack every one of the most unnecessary items in my life in to the two boxes I have sent home. Just in case. I have gutted my room from the inside out, but on the outside, it looks as if I've just moved in. I figure I will wait until the last minute to tear down the image of my little life here. It will be my last minute box. Filled with the pictures, the drawings and paintings, the candles and decorative pieces on my walls. Until then, I keep them there in case I need to deceive myself to prevent a violent swing back to the other side.

My job has been the biggest blessing I could have ever been granted in my time out here. I have learned more about people, life, and mostly myself then I was ever ready for. And they have been the most understanding group of people, cushioning each one of my blows with compassion and understanding. I have quit, re-joined them, and quit again now during all this chaos. They should have me commited. But instead, they have been there every step of the way, offering emails, advice or just an ear. They have let me know I am always welcome and appreciated there, and that I can hit them with my indecisiveness as many times as i want, and they will still have me back.

This all has lead me to finally feel somewhat stable in my decision to head back home. This idea of impermanance. This idea of "living without a concept of time" as Kristina coaches me along with. They tell me, nothing is set in stone, nothing is permanant, and not to live by a timeline. Not to feel like I am ever stuck, I can always turn around, I can always come back, and I can always move on. Either way, either step is going to be an experience, either way I am going to learn and grow. And most importantly, life will go on. It always does. And it always works out.

So now I can truly live out my Kerouac impulses. I am packing my life into cardboard boxes. The sound of heavy duty packing tape makes me laugh, in a very nervous sort of way. I am heading back across the country in a car with a best friend and a friend of hers, most likely with feet out the window, music blaring, and cares thrown to the wind. And I plan on getting home and diving in. Melting back into my life there, my family, my friends, my adventures and curiosities about things I left unfinished or even undiscovered on that coast. And all doors are open, all options are big and bright and within reach. My backpack is always there. My clothes fit neatly into it. The road is open, as is my mind and heart.

And most importantly, as are the people in my life. My family, through all my whirlwind tendencies, has found a way to be those roots that support me wherever I am and in whatever I am doing. They don't doubt me, they don't reprimand me, they don't shake their head at me. Or if they do, they do it quietly behind the phone, and with a nervous smile. A smile that always communicates to me, "Ohh, Lauren."