Where Am I Going?
Where am I going? Nowhere. And everywhere. I will live wherever I happen to be at that time.
Let me explain.
I’m living in my youngest daughter’s house. She just turned 17, and she picked this place as where she wanted to be when she “moved out” — which, in our case, is when I move out. She has ties to this community and wants to make her life here, at least for now. It will be a gentle transition for both of us, me and my “baby” who is already so fiercely independent.
Our unique approach created a situation where I am the one on a timeline to decide where I want to go. I could get another place in this region, but that didn’t feel right. Portland, Oregon is nice. So is the Seattle region. I could also just stay at my cabin in the mountains near Mt. Rainier, and this was getting closer to feeling right; after all, I have some empty lots next to my cabin where I could build a nice home along with a retreat for the travelers in my life.
After a late-night conversation with Kevin where we explored the pros and cons of various options, and wrestling with why I would feel a range from resignation to near-depression at the thought of picking just one place and adding a rent or mortgage payment, I decided let go. Ask for guidance from the Universe and trust that I would figure it out before the time came.
The next day, I visited my dad near the build site of his new cabin, hanging out at his RV that he decided to keep since he will still find himself traveling regularly; the Wanderlust runs strong on that side of the family. The idea of me building my own cabin came up, and I’m sure I made some positive sound in reply. However, my dad looked at me and said, “Sweetie, Lots 3 and 4 aren’t going anywhere. Hook up a [type of RV] to your rig and go have fun.”
All I know is that the moment he said that, I felt like I could sit a little taller for all the weight that fell off of my shoulders. Really, there’s a reason why that figure of speech exists; I felt lighter. And happier, and relieved, and oh so right. This was exactly the answer. Or at least the right concept.
RV? Maybe. Or short-term furnished housing. Or Extended Stay hotels. Couch surfing! Okay, that might be pushing it, but suddenly such details didn’t matter.
Kevin’s response was perfect: “Where do we want to go first?” My own response was that it didn’t matter; I just wanted to go. And I felt giddy about it.
My wings unfurled, stretched, and felt only the slightest effects of a long period of unuse; I’m ready to fly again.