2% of Me
I tend to think that I'm often alone in this world. (OK, hold on—if you're a dear friend of mine, I know that I'm not. But the little kid and teenager in me is far stronger some days than the adult who has built a life with amazing friends and a sweet, small family.)
With this constant sense of aloneness, I find there's 98% of me that loves to be deeply rooted at home. And there's 2% of me that's always browsing Zillow for some fantasy farmland where I could live close enough to a town—but start over, start fresh.
I'm wondering if there's anybody else like that? Someone who has a good life (not without its trials and tribulations) but also carries this fantasy of starting over or starting fresh?
Here's the thing about my starting-over dreams, though: I've always thought that in retirement or later in life, I'd move to property in Washington or Oregon. I've lived in California from day one—through 26 moves before landing in this house I've called home for 15 years this month. All those moves were within California.
As I write this, I think there's 2% of me that's still not completely comfortable in this body, decades into this life. There's more for me to discover, certainly more self-care for me to embrace—so that 2% takes over and whispers, "Oh boy, you need to start over. You need what we call a geographic move." But here's the problem with that: while the 2% might feel satisfied, the 98% would certainly want to be back right here, looking out at our backyard with my comforts and the life I have built.
Some of you know I began a new job a few months ago. I think this shift is part of it all. My life is so much richer than I ever imagined—my partnership with Suz, leading retreats, having yoga be such a big part of my world and friendships. There's a huge part of me that wonders: How am I here, though? I didn't expect to be where I'm at now. I had dreams I would be writing for a living, somehow have affordable health insurance, and be rescuing all the animals we could. And while I'm grateful, sometimes there's a little bit of bafflement. I need to trust the universe has got my back.
I guess I'm just here admitting that there's a huge part of me that would love to live on property, have fog-filled mornings, enjoy 78-degree weather (which doesn't happen around Sacramento), and be able to write, teach yoga, rescue animals, and live a bit of a Hallmark life. But would I really? The grief, the hard times, and the friendships right here have made me 98% comfortable in my body.
When I take a step back and write these words to you, I realize I do have these things in my life. Well, except for the fog-filled mornings. We have a home with a little extra lot size. We have rescue dogs, chickens, and cats. I'm writing right now on a Sunday morning for my Monday night note to you. I'll find a yoga practice later today, write some more in my book, and continue to commit to writing instead of running away.
