Today, I took the first bit of me-time I’ve taken in a long time. Something about being in the middle of a pandemic, immediately following a tornado, propelled a sense of urgency in me to GET THINGS DONE. A little case of “gotta do more, gotta be more, work, work, work, don’t waste this time” became an exercise in 8-10 hour days, every day, for the last two months. Until I burned out - and for the last few days, sat around in a well of guilt for how little I was accomplishing.
After gentle nudges from friends, I became aware of something else, beyond just an opportunity work, that this time is an opportunity for REST. A time to regroup and reset that I may never have again and that is quickly approaching end. So, instead of ordering yet another book about business or attending yet another virtual CLE (lawyer education), I ordered a book I’d been wanting to read for awhile just for pleasure: Untamed by Glennon Doyle.
The book’s arrival this morning, combined with PERFECT weather and the reduced anxiety that comes at the end of a profitable and productive work-week, equaled permission to sit on my deck, in a tank top, with a drink, to read it. and YOU GUYS!! I am peeled open.
So, here it is - the writing thats been coming and happened after Glennon reminded me that I am “a goddamn cheetah.” (you’ll need to read the book to understand).
It’s taken 19 months of being home before I could even begin to understand the magnitude and lessons from our two-year period of driving, living and camping around the US, Mexico and Central America.
I’m sure I’ve been a disappointment to everyone I’ve sat down with since returning - over coffee or wine, they were probably hoping and expecting something profound. Some words of wisdom and warrior-like tales of danger and wonder, mountains climbed and barbaric yawps into the unknown; musings from a hero, a confident defiant woman who had conquered something - within herself and within the world.
Generally, what they got was the opposite. When I got home, I was quickly faced with feelings of weakness, fear, insecurity emptiness...being lost. Wanting to run back to something there would be no recreating. The money was gone, the car was struggling, my wife was road-weary, my family needed me - it was simply time to be back and I wasn’t ready to be back. I desperately needed comforting and speaking bravely or acting otherwise felt like a lie. I needed help I could not ask for and didn’t know how to articulate. How could I complain when I had just returned from an experience of the sort few saw themselves capable? This isn’t the story I wanted to tell. I wanted to entrance, to regale, to pierce the imagination and inspire awe. But in reality, I was traumatized and trembling inside.
I was terrified, defeated, angry and VOLATILE. And if depression is anger turned inward then without question, I was deep within the bell jar. I was traumatized by having changed and experienced something galactic but the world not having changed or the world maybe having changed in ways that, to me, seemed gray and linear...unimportant and without depth.
I felt disoriented - by the lack of a heroes welcome, by being greeted not by parade or fanfare but by subpoena (long, unnecessary story) by aging and dying grandparents, an overwhelmed mother, by understandably resentful law partners, by friends who felt abandoned or who were so caught up in their own insecurities about living a life less ordinary than what they perceived about mine that they couldn’t celebrate my choices, by.a sudden debilitating medical condition, by financial concerns and a lack of homestead. By being unsure I had the level of skill in my career that I once had. By coming home without a dog I had left with.
I was raw and the world seemed glaring and loud, both literally and in mood. These feelings are not what would inspire those looking for inspiration.
But now...as I look back, as security and routine and downtime and socially-acceptable introversion - the kind that could only have come about with a nationwide quarantine, i’ve started to SEE. Only recently have my hands stopped trembling...with time to nest and the return of career normalcy...time at home, I’ve been given me a chance to breathe and now the strength is returning and the blood is filling my face again, as I once again thrive and new friendships emerge and old friendships return, differently, and Facebook memories allow me to relive from an outsider’s perspective, where I have been and who I have been...I can see what the road offered me and why I thrived in a lifestyle that seems, at first glance, so contrary to how I think of myself - the road gave me the key to becoming.
To becoming who I’ve always been, underneath - wild and untamed and brave and curious and wanting nothing more than an unordinary life. I got to see my partner, my lifemate, at her most base places of strength AND weakness. She is truly glorious. So am I. Together, we are MAGICAL. We are survivors. We are creators. We are explorers. I am starting to feel whole. I am starting to inspire myself.
I have also learned that I may be only as strong as the men and women who walk with me. For a time, my weakness, my own brand of PTSD, left me unable to choose a path. Who would I be now? Indecision became paralyzing. I simply could not see. I had no compass. These feelings took me back to high school, a time where my true self was indeed caged. And that captivity led to emotional distress and dishonesty and profound feelings of otherness.
This place I was in forced me to abandon my own map and follow the lead of others whom I admired. I had to trust their directions because I had none. I had to let go of what other people might think or fear of trying something unproven (and even as I write this I realize I was only capable of doing those things bc of my time on the road - the road was defined by ignoring what others thought and forging past fear to paths less traveled).
I was slow to breathe evenly. I was slow to steady myself... but the balance is returning. Im more ready to tell my story as it happened rather than as it happened through the lense of trauma or the rose-colored glasses of those seeking. It was simply a part of my life. A part that is fading away but has left its mark. I wasn’t sure it would be okay if it became a memory instead of an ongoing adventure. But maybe it is. Maybe its okay to move on and move forward without moving “past.” I dont have to re-enter the cage.
It was hard and beautiful and between you and me, I cant wait to get back to it. South America is calling. Or Africa or Asia. Or Croatia…I dont yet know. I’m pretty sure Nepal is up next. Or maybe New England, or just here at home with my wife and my new dog. But never, never in a cage again.