ch-ch-ch-changes

8/3

I feel myself slowing down. There is a catharsis to not constantly being on the move, but there is also fear.

I am nervous that if I am not running to somewhere new, escaping from someplace old, that I will lose the parts of me that are interesting. I am nervous that the further I get from the girl who lived in Moab, the more boring I become. But boring doesn’t seem to encompass the fear quite right. What I mean to say is I am nervous of falling into the trap of adulthood, of all my days becoming one, of checking major experiences off like tasks on a to-do list.

If I am being honest with myself, I am scared of discovering that I enjoy some of that.

Even writing that sentence pains me, creates a wall of resistance so thick my eyes brim with tears. I am scared to age out of running. I am scared of becoming someone who stays. I feel I am losing a part of myself I hold most dear.

8/4

I said aloud today, I want to plant perennials in my yard this year in case I re-sign my lease. I want to have flowers for next summer. My sister looked at me with shock, Re-sign? You hate your job and you hate being here.

There is a defensiveness that springs up in me during these moments. As if I need to prove to everyone that I can and will live up to the image of this spontaneous, noncommittal woman. It can be easy to lose track of who I am living for.

I was left wondering, do I hate being here? I don’t think I do, not in the way I have conveyed to others. Not in the way I believed. I love being here, being near my oldest friends and my nephew and my mom. I sat on my grandparents oversized couch yesterday watching a movie with them. The frenzied knot that is so often felt in my sternum loosens a bit in those moments, and I know that I am where I want to be.

What I have expressed to everyone many times as a discontent with being here can more accurately be described as a hatred of feeling trapped, boxed in. The sensation of not being able to move about my life in the manner that I crave.

My family and friends see me as someone who cannot stand to stay in one place or job very long. Historically, that is accurate. But my time home this past here has shown me there is more to the picture. Deep down, what I crave more than the need to leave is the need for the ability to leave. Freedom.

Fleeing was and is and probably will always be my most favorite survival instinct, but I am not in survival anymore. I am still grasping what that means for me.