Monday, November 2, 2009
Good Bye Montana
I just put my kids on the bus. I hugged them out there at the bus stop and reminded them that I was driving to Colorado while they were in school today. They were fine, they hugged me, said good bye with smiles. I reminded them I'd not see them till Thanksgiving, my biggest fear is them coming home and being like, "Where's mom?"
The funny thing is, this isn't the longest I've been away. Last year, I went to Aspen, then Academy, then Tryouts, then Los Angeles to visit my sister and that trip took six weeks. It was torture for all of us, although it was an amazing trip. So I know we'll be fine.
That's not what's got me this time. I guess this morning, and the reason its been so hard to pack and get out of here in general, this morning marks the end. Its like receiving final divorce documents. Its over.
Its been over for a long time, but we've been able to hold together a family of sorts for the kids and patchwork this semblance of home. This house has been like training wheels, I can toddle back to it, its here. Its been a safety net. This home, Tom's job. There are groceries here, its warm. This is a place to land.
Leaving today, I'm not leaving on a ski or a climbing trip. I'm moving. To Colorado. I'm leaving this house, its not my home any more. The tether is cut. And while I know that I'd be welcome here if I needed to come back, I don't want to. I want a clean break, to close this door firmly behind me and open the next.
Its wild, right now, Both doors are open. I am standing in a place in my life where I can see all the way into my past, into all the crazy events, all the things I've survived, all the things that have made me thrive, all the love, all the loss, all the struggle, all the dreams. And I'm standing on the threshold, literally, and I can look either way.
Ahead is fuzzy. I know what training looks like. I know what Aspen Mountain is like, because the Ski Co was so amazing to me; I got to stay in the locker room every time I came and see how it worked, so I feel like I'm landing in a familiar place.
But I don't know what my home looks like, or what it looks like to live alone after 13 years.
This place reminds me of why we are afraid of change. I know my future is in front of me. I feel the fingers of my past pulling me securely to this house, like my energy is a sticky net, brushing its fingers over everything I walk by, telling me, "Look what you are leaving. This won't be here when you come back."
This makes me feel so many different ways. The strength of the possibilities before me feel so good, I feel so excited about being in Aspen, it feels like home to me, my friends there are so amazing and welcoming... I'm looking forward to coffees with Cindy and tennis and hikes, and arguing endlessly with Kurt and writing in Ink, and picking out food at the little City Market. I'm looking forward to riding my bike in the snow around town, to sitting in the comfort of Weem's friendship and petting Merlin.
I'm looking forward to giving Dennis one of his never ending backrubs and saying hi to Nemo, to seeing the smiling faces of Georgie and Katie and Kip, to being teased mercilessly by Andy and Schanzy, to meeting my new room mate, Erica, to starting my new jobs and making even more new friends.
I'm dreaming about going for long, blissfull, giggling, no stop, looping the chairlift skis with Megan.
These things make me excited, I know how strong and free I feel when I'm on my own, I think that's been part of the allure of being on the road so much for the last three years, learning to become me, learning to stand on my feet alone.
And now, I'm embarking on a never ending road trip, or the emotional equivalent. I'm leaving. I'm not coming back. (I mean, I have to come back to get some stuff, but I'm not coming home.)
Maybe that's it. Driving out of the driveway, I'll be homeless. I'm going to Aspen with two boxes of groceries and $160. (A half a pack of cigarettes, our sunglasses on, and its night. Hit it!)
I like to think of myself as strong, as fearless. Not much really scares me, or, perhaps, more accurately, even if it scares me, I'm not scared to do it.
This scares me.
I'm gonna do it anyway.
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