intuition.
"…And if I may ask a dumb question … did you decide to move for more practical reasons, like a job change, or other reasons? Just curious…"
Now this is a totally normal question. Not outta place in the least or strangely put. Just the curiosity of a woman who hasn’t yet met me beyond my writing. And a good question, I might add. I read it over and over. Had I ever answered it really? Beyond my own personal desire to live by the water; against the mountains, inside fresh air, in a small community? No, I hadn’t. What is the real reason I am moving? Why?
What does she mean? I asked myself that question as her words echoed through my gut and my mind tried to process an answer that seemed to come out looking like a tossed up scrabble board.
Why? What are my practical reasons for moving? Why do I do this? Why did I chose to put myself up to the uprooting, where every belonging that gets packed away is fingered and thought of and recorded somewhere in our souls, as an image, a symbol of this life. This process reminding me more than ever of my mortality and my flaws; the fears and my regrets; the mistakes I have made and the love I have painstakingly given. Even the joy seems melancholy. For the first time ever, I pack with true consciousness. Each symbol I see now has more meaning. In the past it connected to me and those before me or next to me, but for the first time, they now have history and life with those who came in front of me; my children. And I mourn for them, for this home and this space, and each of these little things; the photos, the art, the books, the toys, the fabrics, the furniture, the clothes, will never again be seen by them arranged in this home. Soon it will be just a memory, a flash of place; light floors and smudged windows and splashes of color we all gathered and displayed. Will now remain only a smell of the healing desert in the autumn after a very long and flaming summer? Will their memories get weaker in time, fuzzy and jumbled and become completely abstract? Will they become a song? Something that’s been played over and over while we packed and humped boxes around? Will time eventually turn them from memory to just another tool, like a fabric from their intuition? Where they then become part of non-visual map that will guide them from place to decision all on their own someday?
This is hard. Harder than I thought. I catch myself in tears as I walk through a hollowed out living room. The stereo sits on the living floor, acting as our only remaining piece of furniture. It’s surrounded by Mitzy the Cat, some plastic rings that come from Mia’s Pretty Pretty Princess game, a sock monkey, a duffle bag, a pair of crocs, the vacuum, one of my dogs, lots of dirt and my soon to be homeless plants. It is just barely my house. If I squint I can see what used to be there just yesterday. I curse as I open a cupboard to sprinkle salt on my flatbread with heirloom tomato sandwich and there is no salt, the shelf is bare, packed away. I gave birth right were I sit as I type, instead of moaning the sounds of MMMMAAAAA in a tub while a baby comes out, I am now on outdoor chairs, one under my ass and one under my feet to ease the lower back that stress threw and take pressure off the varicosities that still pulse in my “down there” regions. I am waiting to birth again, but it won’t be here. I feel oddly empty when I hear the echo of B’s heavy boots coming down the hall. I get a bit sick when I see the built-inn bookshelves my husband deigned and made with his hands; basically empty, filled with left-over scraps of life. To keep, to toss, to share; that remains their question.
When I didn’t have kids I just threw all my shit in a box, or gave it away to friends and never thought of them again, except for a moment here or there whatever did happen to those burgundy cords? Or those black suede gloves? Or that little fairy statue that held the crystal? Where the fuck did that really cozy purple velvet duvet go, the one that was always covered in white dog hair? I had little attachment to any of my things. But now my things have given memory to my children. My things are their things; a part of their life. They are barely things anymore, they just are. It seems sad, very, very sad for some reason. I ask myself that question, why, in a different context now. I ask myself like I am accusing myself of doing something very wrong. With the emotional and physical demands of moving, I wonder why I would do this to my, my lover, my babies? It is a cleansing that is needed, but a cleansing with salt-water on life-long skin abrasions, no less.
And at the same time this type of sadness and self-judgment are not permanent. It is me testing my limits, allowing myself to really feel loss and dare myself to question my choices. I know in time, as I get closer to Zion Park for our first camping stop, the sadness will begin to peel away along with my protective skin, ideal for the desert, but now skin I must shed. Or perhaps it may just take the whole way to the ocean, the bubbly autumn sea waters, rapidly cooling as each passing night becomes dawn. The water will wash it away; the salt scouring and scrubbing away what once was but now not needed. I just know somewhere, not far off as all, it will fade away, blur into white zap and be gone. Just like that. I don’t hold this sadness too close. Just close enough.
Why are we moving? The only practical reasons I can think of is one particular school in Bellingham I can really feel myself sending Mia. Mind you this happens to be a school I have never physically visited and I don’t know one child that actually attends there. I just get a very real and good feeling about it. The fact that they let you make up your child’s own schooling schedule from pre-school until eighth grade won me over. They are not against academics at an early age; they just prefer to teach them through outdoor exploration instead of by book and by desk. And I guess another reason might be that the work my husband does is much more understood and practiced (sustainable building and development) in that part of the country. And I have exactly six friends there; 2 of whom I never met.
I am not sure if any of those constitutes practical.
As for the others reasons I am moving?
I am thinking; I am deeply listening to myself to hear this answer. I sit and listen and wait. And after I get passed that “I must be a horrible mother to drag my kid out of there home and force change upon them”, I soften and trust myself. I begin to hear a whisper from somewhere inside, or perhaps it comes from the wind. But I can hear it. And I can only come up with one conclusion. I guess the best way to describe it would be: Intuition.
define “practical”
Comment by Heather — October 2, 2007 @ 1:16 am
You. Go. Girl. I think you are doing a wonderful thing by relocating to a place of your dreams, where you will be surrounded by natural beauty you covet and will be able to raise your kids by ways your heart desires. It is a practical adventure, so to speak. You are blessed and lucky that you are able to do so - move cross country to begin anew and experience life differently, perhaps better for your family. Hugs all around. I can not wait to hear about life on the road. Do you have your camera fixed yet?
Comment by Joanna — October 2, 2007 @ 2:45 am
Practical is overrated. Intution is where it’s at.
I think your baby whispers…
My heart pounds as I read this, knowing you will be gone physically from this desert in a week. I cannot fathom it still.
But I know so much awaits you and that makes my heart still for awhile and so grateful.
Love you,
Me
Comment by Leigh — October 2, 2007 @ 7:12 am
Hey if that woman can’t see the incredibly responsible and intelligent reasoning behind ditching a steadily-rising-in-worth home and employment security in a safe enviroment for children in trade for a van ride up the coast to a small fishing town in the middle of nowhere with no home and no job and 6 months of darkness near a school that you have a good “feeling” about then screw her! You always have Leigh and Heather in Pom Poms
Comment by TinkerBell — October 2, 2007 @ 8:16 am
Tinker, I chose not to delete your comment. It’s nice to exploit people like you (the kind to yellow-bellied to even write your real name or info). It’s always a good laugh to know that there are SUCH huge assholes out there. I mean, shit, I feel like a fucking angel in the making next an idiot like you!
As for for the woman who asked me the question, I respect her. I have no hard feelings about the question, and I am thankful she posed it. It was not an unreasonable question in the least bit. She seems like a wonderful person, just curious. Her inquiring made me dig deeper in myself and I realize I trust my decisions. Always. I thank her. Thank you R, if you are reading this!
MB
Comment by misplacedmama — October 2, 2007 @ 1:57 pm
Having lived on a coast, been surrounded by oak trees, and loved every minute of it and now living in a flatland, with no hills, no trees planted naturally–all in rows to be wind blocks or snow blocks…
I would drop everything to move back. No logical practical reason needed. When your soul longs to be somewhere, that is reason enough.
Comment by Phoenix — October 2, 2007 @ 2:42 pm
Deluriking to say: As a native Washingtonian (is that even right) I know you are going to LOVE Bellingham. I, too, am longing, aching to leave our current city as we’re currently living in the sauna known as Texas. Blessings, joy, and love as you begin the journey of your heart.
Comment by Beth S. — October 2, 2007 @ 5:05 pm
Sometimes Because is good enough reason. Sometimes no reason is reason enough. Because really it doesn’t matter, not in the way we pretend it does. We live and our life is wherever we are. Good for you for listening to within and doing what you know, even if it does not have words or “reason”.
There are no mistakes.
I love that you are the kind of person who takes such a question and lets herself be affected and truly reflect and listen to yourself.
I love you so much I can’t stand it.
xoxo,
bella
Comment by bella — October 2, 2007 @ 10:17 pm
I have never met you, but I admire your spirit so much that I feel in your writing. You children are lucky to have parents who live and love deeply. If spontaneity could be taught, I’d love to learn how to do it from you. Blessings on your journey. Keep sharing.
Comment by Beth — October 2, 2007 @ 11:22 pm
Can I just tell you my heart dropped to my feet when I read my question up at the top there? I thought, “There you go. You DID ask a dumb question.” Lol! My apologies if I’ve stirred up trouble over here. I promise that my question was asked more because I couldn’t remember if you’d written about the impetus for your moving than anything else. No profound questions here, lol! I am very glad that my simple question has helped you think about all of this though. It’s wonderful to know that you are making the best, the RIGHT decision for (with!) your family.
Trust me, having uprooted my son this year, I know how hard it is to feel like you’re maybe turning their lives upside down. Mother-guilt is grrreat, isn’t it?But I also know that they will really be FINE. Aidan has adjusted so well to his new surroundings. EVERY-thing in his life changed and I am so proud of how he is doing. Your children will be so happy, I know it. And I am so very happy for YOU.
Oh, and tell “Tink” to jump off a cliff.
Comment by Rebekah — October 3, 2007 @ 2:43 am
Rebekah,
You absolutely did not ask I dumb question. It was just a question and for me it triggered something deep, something that without it being asked, I’d still be doubting and fearing. Girl, you gave me the gift of muse.
MB
Comment by misplacedmama — October 3, 2007 @ 5:50 pm
I have the Sea living close to me. I am not sure on whether I can ever do without her again. And on top of that you are going to have mountains as well?! I think I totally understand this move. Actually, when can I move in as well?
Comment by Sanne — October 3, 2007 @ 9:02 pm
http://www.weather.com/weather/tenday/98226?from=36hrtopnavundeclared
Comment by TinkerBell — October 4, 2007 @ 6:35 pm
Tinkerbell, Did you happen to see what the weather was like this summer in
Phoenix? Some people like it over 110 degrees 24 hours a day for 3 months
straight. SOme people don’t. Some people like seasons. Some people like rain.
My philosophy? To each their own. What is your obsession with needing to prove
something on my blog? I find that people who constantly need to be negative are
very sad, very jealous, very angry, very hurt people. I hope someday you find
happiness. I truly do.
MB
Comment by mb — October 5, 2007 @ 1:51 am
http://www.weather.com/outlook/travel/businesstraveler/tenday/AMS:9?from=hrlytopnavbusiness
Just to give Tinkerbell an idea of the fact that there are more people who choose to live in a similar climate. Actually, in the Netherlands alone there are already over 16 million who do so… and on top of that, some of these 16 million also live below sea level. And even more amazing (for Tinkerbell and the like), they’re FINE with it or ENJOY it. MB, you’re right: to each their own.
Comment by Sanne — October 5, 2007 @ 3:12 pm
Interesting tag-tinkerbell-isn’t it? Tinkerbell is a little fairy delivering light. this bitch is the opposite of tinkerbell. negative-small-thinker-jealous dumbbell. But kind of sad, isn’t it, that the name she chose for herself is “tinkerbell.” Like that’s who she’d sort of like to be, poor thing must hate herself for falling so short and being an unhappy unbeliever who literally wants to “rain” on other people’s parades. Don’t let your pure heart be phased by her. You can stick me in the trenches with tinkerbell, though I’m in the mood to take that bitch down.
Comment by courtney alban — October 8, 2007 @ 4:43 am
OK, let’s leave my previous comment for like a day and then delete it. I don’t want to it leave the negativity out there. Maybe I am a little nicer than I think.
Comment by courtney alban — October 8, 2007 @ 4:55 am
..or a little dumber
Comment by TinkerBell — October 8, 2007 @ 10:07 pm
Regarding the commentor TB: RUDE. I pity him/her, although I’m sure they could care less about my pity. I just think that folks who feel compelled to leave mean comments anonymously on other people’s blogs are pathetic immature cowards. I can understand little kids not having impulse control, but I think folks old enough to be living voyeuristically online should have more self-control.
MB, I’m glad you’re able to laugh it off. And you can delete this comment too if you’d like.
Comment by Sarah Jane Rhee — October 9, 2007 @ 7:43 pm
I am thinking you must be on the road by now? I am excited and envious of your ensuing adventures. I know that picking up and leaving must be so hard, just practically speaking (I hate moving…) and yet I just have this feeling that Bellingham will embrace you and your family. It’s all going to come together, and then you’ll know why you moved. And that school sounds awesome! Can’t wait to hear more about it. Safe travels to you and your sweet, spunky family!
xoxo,
Sarah in Chicago
Comment by Sarah Jane Rhee — October 9, 2007 @ 7:53 pm
Oh MB!
You are going to love it up here! The weather has been so nice… a fairly constant 54 degrees… and the leaves are changing. I love seeing 4 seasons. I also love seeing people reading, chatting with strangers, and biking around town. I cant forget to mention the organic restaurants…I hope to enjoy the NW with your family soon
Comment by leslie — October 10, 2007 @ 3:25 am
Folks, don’t feed the trolls.
MB, I never got to say goodbye - I will miss you. Good luck in WA.
Comment by Melinda — October 13, 2007 @ 4:06 am
Maybe one day I’ll get to see you again. I have found my way to the North West. Lived in Oregon (Portland), and Washington (Vancouver and Spanaway–a suburb of a suburb of a suburb of Seattle). When I was there I missed here. As much as the heat feels like it’s gonna kill me every year, I guess I’m a desert rat. I always dreamed of a summer home to go to…
Enjoy. And thanks for everything.
Comment by Karen — October 13, 2007 @ 6:23 am