From Where I'm Sitting
In July 2014, I (we) moved from Boise to Austin. It was one of the most liberating decisions I’d made in my life to that point. I felt like I was truly listening to my soul and taking bold, decisive action.
But for several years, I had a subtle but pervasive fear that I would have to go back. That I would not be able to make it here financially. Or some other situation would force me to move back. I didn’t hate Boise. I just didn’t belong there anymore. It wasn’t the first time I felt that “don’t want to go back” feeling. Nor would it be the last.
I thought of that feeling as I was reflecting on where I was three years ago from this writing …
October 16, 2020.
Two weeks away from the entry point of the darkest of the dark nights of the soul.
Many of you know the story, but here’s some context for those who don’t …
2020 and 2021 were a time enormous upheaval for the planet but also my life. After Lynna came out in 2016, we struggled to continue our marriage in a way that allowed her (and me) freedom to be our true selves. All of 2020, I agonized over knowing that it was time to end this part of our relationship. My grandson, Fiver, was born in late September. Around that time, I told Lynna that I couldn’t continue. Then the dam broke and change flooded my life.
I moved into my own place for the first time since I was 18 years old. There was that exhilarating sense of liberation and freedom. I kept myself obsessively busy with getting settled into my new place. I set about to outfit it with the “hipster cowboy” look. One particular piece of furniture stands out. It was a Mission-style wooden and leather chair purchased off Facebook Marketplace. I vividly remember meeting the guy at his storage unit and Caden and I wrangling the chair into the back of my truck, then into the house.
I turned 50 on Oct 26. I appreciated having friends and family there to celebrate with me but I could feel the despair replacing the exhilaration. By October 27, I had ran out of things to do to distract myself from the inevitable. I remember sitting in that chair in my living room. Completely alone with myself and the enormity of my wounds, the changes, the isolation.
For days, I used that chair as a place to weep, think, pray, journal. As I white-knuckled my way through this dark night of the soul, I used that chair as a place to get in to my heart. By early December, I felt myself emerging from that long, dark valley. I then used that chair to write down what I most want in life and in a relationship.
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