One swings open, one swings closed

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Actually it has been neither, this section of the dirty coast is not really known for its extremes unless you are counting rainfall, heat, humidity, and number of white supremacists per capita Just joking on the last one, I think. My time here has been interesting, boring, clarifying, restful, complicated, chaotic, productive, helpful, and many different things. I feel like I have grown into myself here, in so much that I have truly realized what I don't want out of life, who I don't want to be, and who/what truly matters at the heart of it all.

On my last afternoon in Mobtown, I sit swinging on my porch swing waiting for a good old fashioned frog strangler to come rolling in to dump precious and much needed hydration on my withering azaleas, shriving hydrangeas, thriving herb garden, and confused camellias. I will miss all of these things, but more in a wistful than heartbreaking sense. My heart is full of so much right now; excitement, terror, hope and longing are all swirling around as I poise myself at the edge of life's next grand adventure.

Looking at my mostly empty olde home, I feel as though I am walking away from so much, ditching the American dream as I go seek MY dreams. But I still will find it strange for a “For Sale” sign to be placed on its postage stamp yard. Much of my time here has seemed tinged with familiarity but also with an alien quality I have never been able to capture from the shadows. Fitting in, but not belonging; succeeding without true success. Great big things are waiting around the corner for me, even if they will most likely have to fit in a tiny condo, and I feel mostly ready to let go of here.

My more pressing fear is not on whether I will do well as Doc to be or if I will make friends or if I will have the right clothes , if I will be happy or other things that I feel will work themselves out in a most banal fashion. No, my sweat inducing fears tend to revolve mostly around the fact that I worry about being separated from my dear NOLA, that the umbilical cord can't stretch 2700 miles West and she will forget about me, move on to someone new. As I have always said, she and I have an imperfect and slightly abusive relationship.

I hope that Westest and I will be more comfortable with each other, settle into a more mutual way of being. I know I will have to put more effort into loving her, will have to nurture my relationship, court her, keep up appearances and so on. Until then, it is time to roll up my blue tarp and move on...