It’s been a long time since I have blogged. (I used to have a blog on here that was doing quite well and I just re-opened it under a new name. It used to be movingmountains20, but back to the story at hand.) . For those of you who remember, last fall our world, home and family came unraveled for reasons that just don’t meet the five second explanation of tragedy, but none the less, it ripped our hearts out.
It still hurts at times, but we are moving forward … I think. Things are at a standstill, yet moving. Kind of like those ginormous clouds that hover over at times, we know there is movement, but the movement is all relative to space and objects.
That is where we are. Waiting while moving. Pressing on toward goals that will take a couple years to reap their harvest, all the while deeply missing a former life where parts are sadly becoming a distant memory.
There is a lot of wrestling too. Wrestling with how open to be online when online security means nothing. When the world today is so dangerous and everything seems to be perceived as politically driven. Where many people who fight bigotry are they themselves the ones who so easily judge a person by the color of their skin and their accent (or maybe lack of one).
Regardless, that is where we are today. Re-birthing. Revising. Redefining (all of who I thought I wanted to be). Moving at the pace of seemingly stagnant clouds. Trying to survive one of the biggest culture shocks of my life. I can’t tell you what it is like to have left the hustle and bustle of commercialism, city life and all things that supposedly make up “society” for three years and return to “civilization” realizing that civilization is much less civilized than societies living, if not directly from nature, pretty darn close.
So I sit in a city, yearning for the mountains. I write in a cage where I once scribbled in wide-open spaces. I think in a box now where I used to not have or need one.
But I take it is a way to relate to the struggles of many others. Since I published my book and am working on my second, I take this as a chance to really work through the same struggles that most people have. And I say “most” because I used to live in one of the most sparsely populated areas in the United States and have returned to city life and, let’s face it, cities inhabit most of the populace or they wouldn’t be so dense and crammed.
So things that were very easy for me once before are now a real struggle because of my context. Things that were very difficult in my former life like communications (due to lack of cell phone or internet reception), good drinking water and time/travel constraints due to how far we lived away from the small towns that surrounded us are now easily obtainable.
But its strange, you know? I miss fighting for internet and cell phone reception and not having so much access to various amenities at my fingertips.
I think I do, though I remember being quite frustrated at times without them and having had a couple of emergencies without communication abilities. (That is tough).
It’s all a toss up. Trade-offs. Nothing is perfect. No utopia on this side of eternity. Just making amends with the realities of life at the ripe age of 34.
But in any case, its time to write. Time to reflect. Time to move forward, even though the thought of it still stings my nose with the sharp needles of fighting tears.
I don’t want to. I want to go back. Back to the hardest place I have ever lived (and believe me, I know relocating, it’s my middle name).
Please don’t mind if I do, use this blog as an outlet for my reflections of a former life. For observations of a new life and trying to make sense of a very confused, convoluted mess called life.
With all sincerity, I would be much obliged.