I am tired and I am terrified
I’m moving forward, I’m moving out, I’m moving across country
And I’m finally acknowledging that there are no tethers for me here
My mother is ash, my father is a tree, my grandfather and grandmother lie in twin graves, my brother a crib under the soil
They no longer keep me here
My home has been sold and a new family has made it their own, as they should. As it should happen with all homes.
My new home has been outgrown, my skin itchy like first down feathers and scales to be shed; my shell too small, too crowded, too weak to house the force I want to become.
The way forward is clear and precise and open and fabulous and absolutely terrifying!
I’ve been on planes and trains, in taxis and Uber’s and lyfts; ferries and boats and kayaks. I’ve seen the ocean east to west to south, and I’ve tasted salt in the air and on my skin; from my skin and my eyes
I’ve felt the fog in Texas, in Oklahoma, in New York, California, and Oregon. I felt the sun in Louisiana and Arizona and Nevada. I’ve felt a weight in me change to something malleable and workable and liftable. Baggage lighter. Manageable. Hopeful.
So it’s time. We have this dream, right? A good one? An aspiration? We have this moment to take? A new life to begin?
It’s time to pack up and travel. I am tired and terrified, and it’s time to begin again.