The Winds Are Changing

Winds in the east / Mist coming in / Like something is brewing / About to begin / Can’t put me finger / On what lies in store / But I feel what’s to happen / All happened before.
-Bert, a la Mary Poppins

Lately I have been giving a lot of thought to being lost. While there have been many times in my life that I have felt lost, usually it has mattered little to me as I have always felt a bit un-tethered. Once while on a road trip with a past love, I groused to him that I had tried braiding my hair to tame it, but that it had exploded upon itself anyway.

He replied, “I guess that means you can’t be tamed.”

Even though I had used the word tame in regards to my wild curls, I loved that he threw it back to me in describing my wild spirit. I found it to be a high compliment and nodded to myself that it was so. I certainly could not be tamed.

I realized, however, with my epiphany in the bathroom the other day, staring at my body and not feeling shame, that I feel a little less lost in myself. The importance of this didn’t occur to me until today. Well last night really. I couldn’t sleep because the rain was splattering so furiously on my windows that it kept jarring me from sleep.

Though I checked my phone multiple times to find it was still the middle of the night I started to feel awake and with my alertness, I began to feel a little lost. A few years ago when I lived in Wisconsin I used to feel so lost that I would wake up in the middle of the night, look across the room into the mirror, catch my reflection and not know who I was looking at. I felt like a displaced person inside of myself and it happened all the time. It was unsettling to say the least, but I couldn’t put my finger on why it happened so frequently.

Now I suspect it had something to do with my vast unhappiness in my own skin.

But when I woke up last night it wasn’t the kind of lost I used to feel in Wisconsin, instead this felt like a directional sort of lost. This one I was more familiar with and could identify as part of my gypsy spirit, the part of me that needs something more … somewhere … but I am not yet sure what.

When I left New York City I had the same feeling. At first I knew I needed the flat farmlands of my hometown of Fowlerville, Michigan, to soothe me, but that didn’t satiate me long—it never does—and shortly after abandoning New York I knew I needed the mountains. That’s all I could think was mountains, I need the mountains and their vastness. And their “good tidings,” as John Muir says. I felt claustrophobic after leaving New York City and the mountains seemed the perfect antidote to that.

Now, all I knew was I needed the North. I needed Lake Superior. I needed to be on the lookout for moose and the moving green mists of the Northern Lights. I needed dense forests and zero traffic. I needed my sisters. After that I didn’t know what I needed or where to go to get it but first and foremost the Great Up North seemed to be beckoning in her most alluring way.

I often feel that a lot of people couldn’t or wouldn’t comfortably understand my need for abrupt change, but the best way I can describe it is this:

“Not all who wander are lost.”
-J.R.R Tolkien

So while I feel a bit like Mary Poppins noting that the wind has changed and there is nothing to be done but follow it, I don’t feel internally lost. I feel ready for a good wander. Internally, I have never felt more secure.*

 

***
I wrote this post before I moved yet still wanted to post it, but my secure-ness has shaken a little—err a lot—and my lost-ness has intensified. But alas at one point I felt certainty in the wind change. Now… well now I am just finding comfort in myself, deep down where God resides.

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You Know It’s Love When…

I haven’t been writing here for many reasons. Mostly because I’ve been happily in love and I was content to just exist in that love and not write about it. And then for a time I was sad but I didn’t want to confess my sadness, so I buried it, until it could find me again, which it did. It always does as you can’t bury things like that.

The last time I really wanted to write (other than every second of my life) but write for proclamations sake, to share with the world, was a few weeks back—or was it months—in regards to my love. I write about him a lot I know, but not nearly as much as I could, because I’ve never wanted to be a smug bastard. You know the kind.

At any rate, we were lying in bed cuddling and watching The Office, our nightly ritual, my boyfriend snug against my back as the big spoon, when he casually said,

“You farted on me in your sleep last night.”

“What?” I said in disbelief, instantly berating my sleeping self for letting one go like that. I then apologized profusely feeling mortified.

He laughed and snuggled me tighter, saying, “don’t be sorry, it was adorable.”

I farted on my boyfriends leg while sleeping and he thought it was adorable. Adorable. This is love I thought. I have finally reached the warmest and most secure part of love: When you finally fart on your boyfriends leg unknowingly and he doesn’t screech in horror and you don’t turn fifty shades of red when you find out and want to leave him because he now knows you’re human. And when you instead cuddle a little closer admitting to yourself that you already knew it was love because you shaved your legs 2 days ago, okay 5, fine 7 and still he wants to touch you. And then weeks later when you leave Nair on your upper lip for too long and scorch your skin off and there is no way to hide the hideous burn which is growing somehow into what looks like a degenerating brown mole and getting worse by the day seemingly like it could only be seen as a Herpes outbreak and your boyfriend very concerned asks you what on earth happened to your upper lip and there’s no reasoning, you have to confess and he just laughs and doesn’t judge while the rest of the world most certainly does, yes, that is when love is comfortable and good and right.

And I wanted to share. I wanted to share with the world that I farted on my boyfriends leg, because it meant something! It was the place I always wanted to be in a relationship and I had gotten there. Well not the farting part, but despite the fart, the staying part, the commitment part. The you can show your most unattractive, unappealing self to another person and they stay part!

Isn’t that love? It is. It truly is, though there is more to it than that and that’s a story for another day, but today, today I just wanted to say, by golly it’s been good. It’s been real good with you kid.