I’m trying to think of all of the reasons I haven’t written anything significant in more than a month.
If I’m being honest, I probably shouldn’t be too hard on myself. Within this time span, I’ve completed the process of moving across the country and restarting my life before the ripe age of 40. I can think of plenty of people who are still just trying to keep up the charade and go to the grave without anyone noticing they hate their friends, job, or family.
When I look at it like that, I’m in the clear — at least in terms of repeating generational mistakes and trauma.
When I look at the logistics, however, I’m also the first person in my family to officially get divorced (It goes hand-in-hand with breaking generational cycles of trauma, unfortunately). I live 2,000 miles away from the people I [somewhat] want to see on a regular basis, and I have forfeited the home I spent my adult life saving money to buy.
I love where I now live — it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been — but it’s not where I spent 70% of my life up until this point. I don’t think the unfamiliarity (literally and figuratively) scares me. Nothing really scares me at this point, and it can’t; death has seemed like a respite for quite some time.
Maybe that’s why I’ve disappeared, though. Most days, I can no longer be found in my head.
More often than not, you’ll find me staring at the mountains. Last weekend, I went to a baseball game and spent the entire first inning doing that very thing while the sun set. Everyone and everything here is always more than happy to just leave me alone, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve had time to think — more than I could’ve imagined — and dream of what I want the rest of my life to look like (Spoiler: you want that after you destroy everything you have). However, I can’t seem to do it without becoming wildly existential.
To some extent, I think that reacquainting myself with the things I used to love may help. Writing, for instance, has not come easy over the past few months, but I like to think I’ve still got it. I’m sitting on a few ideas for paintings, and I’m considering participating in Inktober for the first time in years.
I keep running into a mental wall when I consider these possibilities for too long, though, which leads me to wonder if I’m headed in the wrong direction. What if all of my newfound free time in this fresh place is meant to be spent on other things? What if everything I used to love no longer serves me?
Slowly but surely, I’m attempting to find out (I’m writing, aren’t I?). In the coming days, I expect to ease back into photog — I’ve felt a craving in my bones for a couple of weeks. I have a live online DJ show slated for less than a week from now, and needing to practice for it has felt like reconnecting with an old friend. I’m trying to keep up with reading by at least making the time while cycling at the gym.
Theoretically, all systems should be up and running shortly. Whether that happens, however, has yet to be seen.
In the meantime, maybe bookmark this blog. Subscribe if you think there’s a chance I may take flight. I’m not asking you to keep the faith; in my darkest moments over the past few months, I’ve continued to believe in myself, even when no one else has wanted to take the chance.
I just think something interesting might happen if I throw fuel on this little fire.
