I get attached.
I have freewheeling,
I sat in front of the computer, the option to go. I scroll between the purple 'buy' and the clear 'delete' buttons. I scroll. I sit. I open a bottle of wine. I sip. I scroll. I entertain my options. I walk away. I sleep on it, I wake up. I turn the ignition of my car and Springsteen's Glory Days plays and I go back in and I go upstairs and I bulldoze in and I sit and I go back to the button and I press "BUY".
If Nancy Dixon and Costa Rica could have verbalized a decision that was to be how it came. So I go, backpack full of shorts and suits and suntan lotion, devoid of expectation with only minimal hope that I can stay safe, learn something about surfing and maybe some Spanish. That my month away will give me time to ponder, to walk, to write, to asana, to believe.
I get attached. I fell a little in love with Calgary. I trekked the 8th Street route to and from Copeman for six months as I muddled through winter and my own catapulting thoughts. I made friends in all the unexpected places. I learned. I laughed. I cried- a lot. But attachment doesn't do anything besides stick me like glue to what I know. So I chose buy, so I go. I try to shrug off the last experience in Piedmont that left me cold in the heart and torn in spirit and I harness the spirit of all the other brave people who go and I pack up. And I go.
I cannot imagine what this adventure holds. But it will be something.
Walk with me as I go again. I detach, I choose not to stop, to be unstoppable, to be bulletproof. I prepare for the airport, the airplanes, the buses and boats that will take me to a new place.
Attachment has photos:
I just can't sit at a desk that long. I would roll my chair around in the back. I would dance in the lab for Angela. I would close my door and sit cross legged on the floor. I would work. I would drink coffee out of my "Holly" cup Mat brought me home from Korea.
Hillary and I did all kinds of cool/ funny things. Shadow puppetry, coffee and wine sampling, fine and lousy dining, Saturday morning parties and skating at the ice rink. I was deeply amused by our "lists".
Attachment has photos... but detatchment has an experience. I dive into it...