
Source: Google Images
Struck A Chord
I’m in the middle of a good read, The Last Kingdom, by excellent spy novelist Steve Berry and, as always, something I read in one of the chapters strikes a personal chord:
“…back in his apartment in Copenhagen, among the few things he’d brought with him when he….moved from Georgia to Denmark. One life left behind, another looming on the horizon. He’d purposely brought along as little as possible. Foolishly, he’d thought the past would leave him behind. But he’d come to learn that the past never stopped coming. The trick was to learn how to deal with its relentlessness.”
All Over the Map
About two years ago I sat down and drew a rough U.S. map marked with lines of adventure from all my cross- and semi-cross country travels. There were more than I realized but like the character Cotton Malone in the above novel, I too brought along a few things that were a part of my life and, well, defined me as me. I rid myself of belongings that I felt, at the time, were not me even though I wasn’t yet sure who that was.
As I’d crisscrossed the U.S. and Caribbean, I recently realized, I’d gone through a few metamorphoses (on several levels) in trying to find myself and what I truly liked in life (food, clothing/shoes, culture, jobs, etc.). The past thirty years have been an experiment of sorts, with me finding out more and more about myself with each move to some other place on the map.
I moved to Connecticut because it was pretty and I found good work there. For the most part, I dressed professionally and had quite a selection of dressy shoes/boots/pumps. It was also where my love of Western boots and Southwestern décor blossomed at some point. (I’m not sure why but it led me to my next destination, in the next paragraph; perhaps that was the point.)
In New Mexico, along with my Southwestern furnishings and boots, I traded the more formal parts of my wardrobe for daily casual wear and shoes with aggressive soles (read: hiking shoes) to traverse the dry, dusty, jagged and rugged Santa Fe landscape. Once I completed graduate school, I relocated to the Northwest. I tried a few places in Oregon and Washington but didn’t like the gray and rain – too depressing. I kept the casual wardrobe but replaced the hiking shoes with sneakers and flip-flops in the summer.
Arriving in Southern California, I kept with the casual clothes: shorts, leggings, jeans and flip-flops; that seems to be the standard wardrobe here. I then traveled around the Caribbean for seven months, where shorts, a tank top and flip-flops or sandals were the choice because it was too hot and muggy for anything else. I bought one pair of dressy summer sandals for a few celebratory occasions.
I moved to Northern California where it it just as casual, even at work. “Business casual” in Northern Cali means leggings (read: gym/yoga pants) and open-toed sandals paired with a casual but not always dressy top. I quickly tired of the “just-got-out-bed” or the “all-my-nice-clothes-are-dirty” look and began the search back to where I started: with nicer, maybe a bit more classic and comfortable, footwear (and clothes in general). I managed to score some nice Italian leather mules. I also found a nice pair of Inkkas joggers (they’re great for walking) made with deep red suede and a Moroccan pattern that dressed them up a bit.
Where’s Waldo…
How does this translate to finding myself? I now realize that throughout my travels and adventures I’ve tried on a lot of different shoes; wore different clothes; ate different foods; lived in different cultures, some with different languages. In trying to find myself, I opened myself up to what life had to offer and how much of it worked for me (and, more importantly, getting rid of what didn’t).
Even in writing I’ve created fiction, nonfiction, poetry, articles, blogs, and a few books. I’ve learned how to research and build a story. I’ve researched professional tomes to build a professional book. I’ve opened myself up to writing poetry from the heart when it has moved me to do so.
Dipping one’s toes into myriad waters doesn’t mean you’re disorganized or lack direction, it simply means you’re curious – most likely about yourself more than the subject of your writing and what makes you that unique you.
I always took a bit of me with me, even while I was discovering new aspects of me. But no matter how hard I tried (and I did, believe me), I couldn’t leave my past behind. As I wrote in my blog post, Coming Full Circle,
“Maybe all that running/moving around the country I’ve posted about was a lot like Forrest Gump’s three-year run: to purge some emotions, to run away from some problems and to heal with time.”
Yup. That’s exactly the conclusion I came up with – that going home will complete the circle of finding myself (knowing who I am and what I like) because home was where I’d always belonged. Clothes, food, languages, and all. I just didn’t know it until now.
After all…
“There’s no place like home.”
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