I used to be really good at moving. Relocating was just a throw a dart at a map and go process. Now the stakes seem so much higher. It’s not just moving; it’s a whole new life, a whole new structure and philosophy and definition.
I’ve never wanted to own a house, a building that breaks in ways I can’t fix. I’ve never understood the appeal, and I tried to adjust who I am for a long time so I could fit into that required structure & it’s just not who I am. I don’t understand the constant process of cleaning a house inside so the outside (dirt) won’t be inside. I don’t understand the process of having neighbors who are always one wall away… that’s not a neighbor, that’s a housemate, that’s double the stuff I don’t want. I like sharing my life with the furbs, humans always try to kill me and I’ve learned it’s not wise to try and share my life with humans who want to kill me. So this move isn’t just a move, it’s a constant process of resisting the lifelong force to be someone I’m not.
I start falling into that almost unbreakable formula I’ve been taught as a muscle memory solution to how I should proceed. I need a place to store my stuff? The solution to that is a house with a locked door and utility bills and air conditioning and plumbing and a mortgage! When I know the solution to that is the entire premise of the belief that I need a place to store my stuff.
When my kiddo took an interest in riddles, we spent some time talking about the construct of riddles. It’s usually a layer cake of complexity with multiple “right answers” depending on how you look at the world, and usually the better solution is in the first sentence or two. The belief that I need stuff at all, the belief that I need a place to store that stuff, is the problem. I don’t want a house, it’s just hard for me to let go of all the emotional attachment to the life I couldn’t do & the stuff I accumulated in an effort to have that life. The sudden detachment from everything is too much too quickly and that feels like dying, hanging on to all of it for fear of dying feels like dying. So, for now, the middle road that works for my antennae is to drastically downsize (did a lot of that) & put a small amount of stuff in storage while I transition from the indoor crappy life I don’t want into the glorious life in a garden I want. I have a card that fits in my wallet which entitles me to 83 million acres. I absolutely don’t need nor want a house. I just want a space where people will leave me alone and stop trying to murder me.
Owning stuff makes life easier sometimes, it’s expensive and inconvenient to go to the grocery store three to five times a day. Storing stuff in a house I don’t want is equally expensive and inconvenient. Finding the bridge between those two expensive and inconvenient miseries is complicated, but not impossible.
I’m almost as certain as I can be that I’ve figured out the way forward into the life I want, instead of just away from the life I don’t want. I keep listening to my body as the closest thing I have to a natural antennae. When I feel anxious, sad, frustrated to the point of stressed out about something? That’s my antennae receiving a message sent to my soul, “hey, dumdum, don’t do that.” When I feel happy, relieved, calm, peaceful, excited with a sense of urgency? That’s, “hey, dumdum, do that.” It’s a really simple decoder ring I’ve ignored for a long time.
I can’t heal the world’s problems, which is a frustrating truth to accept; but I can try to heal my own problems. Constantly yelling at the world, “YOUR BULLSHIT IS KILLING ME & YOUR BULLSHIT HAS BEEN KILLING ME MY WHOLE LIFE & YOUR BULLSHIT IS KILLING KIDS!” is the only thing to do sometimes, but my kids need two live parents for now so they can focus on becoming who they need and want to be. So, for now, my personal solution to that murderous world is to try and remove myself from as many of those points of murderous conflict as possible.
I’m gonna try to build a space where I can exist, in a way that makes sense to my antennae, and maybe that’ll be a space where some other people who can’t exist in the murderous spaces might be able to exist too. If not, it’ll still hopefully be a space where I can exist. For now, that’s all I can hope for.
More soon, much Love,