Confessions at 4227 Maryland

It's good to be back at the place that I don't not live.

The past two years have been a wild road; in fact the roughest terrain I've ridden since the years between 15 and 17. Ironically the same period, just ten years ago. In the past two years, I've hardly come up with a word to write, much less a blog. I couldn't quite materialize my thoughts because I didn't have any. Frankly, I had tapped out my emotions and was following the curves of the road without reading the warning signs or stopping for those bright red octagons. The scenery was changing so fast I didn't have time to think between the peaks & the valleys, just to wave as they passed me by. Funny thing about driving: you rarely get to take in the scenery when you're focused on where you're going.

The Windansea blogs were written at a high point in my life, where every day was work hard, play hard with little in between. I had compartments of my life & acted according to my setting. I was Samantha in life and Miranda at work. I'd almost say I had split personalities, except that I simply function with little boxes in my life. And then there were antibiotics. And a baby. And a death. And two moves. And puppy love. And a hurt. And a rude awakening. And then home, again.

I have always been told despite growing up on rural route, USA, that I was a California girl at heart. Perhaps it was my early declaration of lament for shoes and socks, or reluctance to be seen with any device that communicates time of day (aka as a watch in some circles). It might have been because even in the dead of winter I would curl up with a blanket next to the sliding glass doors of our balcony, where the sun would shine in, and take a catnap. I am sure the correlation had nothing to do with the blonde hair or miniskirts.

Regardless of the California-girl qualities I possessed, I had lived in California for a year in the early nineties, and never let the sun-infused vitamin D fade from my memory. I guess the fourth time is a charm, as this is my fourth return to California. It's as if it calls me home from wherever I think has greener grass at the time.

I never actually intended to leave any of those times. In 1990, I was 9 and I had no choice. In 2002, I left to finish something I started, or essentially get the closure I expected. In 2007, I was pregnant, and my support network left, so I followed it. In 2009, I am willing to go all in & say that unless I make it to Austin someday, I am likely home.

My new shanty on Maryland Street will not be my home forever, but I can say with some confidence that in 2009, I am home, but not just in California. Somewhere between marriage & college graduation I split my time between the aspects of myself that accentuated only my strengths & weaknesses, with no room for vulnerability. I only allowed myself to be what I knew needed to change or what I knew was the best of me. In my journey through the most influential years of my life, I am now looking forward to the years where I can be vulnerable again.

I will write with uncertainty & explore my thoughts before I open or close my mind.
I will play piano with patience & emotion because I love it.
I will speak freely to God as though I am the pre-Israel Jacob (and he may break my hip).
I will dance to the Wiggles with Kieren and laugh at how silly we look. Or better yet, that we don't mind how silly we look.
I will cry when the news reports that a child died for no apparent reason, because I can express emotion without having to justify it.
I will sponsor a child in the Dominican Republic & give more than I take because I know it always comes back.
I will split the shirt off my back so neither of us is fully exposed.
I will put my heart back on my sleeve, with superglue.
I will take risk to avoid regret.
I will not be afraid to have pizza on occasion (ok, weekly!) or a glass of wine, but will not forget to eat salad or drink water.
I will smile, because I love the way my smile makes my eyes sparkle.
I will curse when I stub my toe because it hurts, and damnit, pain is real.
I will not read another New York Times Best Seller just because it is an easy read. I might as well watch reality TV.
I will remind myself, when my son cries at 4 am, that the only gift I have in this life that I will take beyond the physical realm I currently live in, is crying at 4 am.

Most importantly, I will just be ME. Batteries not included.