This was a blog I had initially posted on my myspace. I deleted it but saved it as Word document. I'm publishing it here for archive purposes. The real date should be circa Spring '08.

“So, when does it get comfortable?”

He laughed. “It doesn’t get comfortable, as in, you wake up one day and have some epiphany. You just learn how to accept the decisions you’ve made.”


As I pulled out of the parking lot that morning, the reality hit me, and I tried real hard to hold in the tears. He didn’t turn his back on me, he stood there- watched me pull away and drive off. Looking back, that was the probably the easiest thing I had to do. I was life-less: the hands of a million encouragers pushed me all the way to and out the door. But at least I knew falling back wasn’t an option; they were already there to catch me.

I always envisioned the day I’d leave. The weather would be warm and calm, and the track would be set. The windows would be down, the wind would wrap itself around my hair, pulling it up and around. I would look out of my rearview mirror, consider all things lost, consider all things gained, consider all things learned, consider all things changed. I thought comfort was something found, and in the end I’d have to see comfort was something learned. I’ve never stopped long enough to really actually consider that.

The funny thing about the pushers is that they only have your back long enough for you to make the first step on your own. Once you pass the threshold, the door is shut. I am left alone, and in extreme discomfort—discomfort because of the loneliness, but beyond that, so much more: discomfort because I am left with my decisions. Although humane, we are still animals- my instinctual need for survival kicked in. I let myself fall apart, but only with the intention of knowing that at the end, there is no beyond. From the ashes the phoenix will rise.

The road back to my mother’s is an easy one. It feels good to leave life behind, sort of travel back to the days when comfort was found in the arms of a parent. Once I start to descend, the weather gets warm, the smell of farm permeates the air. And I still roll down my windows, but this time to remember. I feel as though every time I go back, something has changed. And it’s an interesting observation because for a long time I felt like nothing there ever changed; it just wasn’t possible. Maybe things were constantly changing, but I was just so stagnant I didn’t notice. And if I did, it had no affect.

I see now that it’s the road home that’s a hard one. The point in life where we’re comfortable with the decisions we’ve made-- we’ve learned to wholly accept them. This is our foundation. And it is at this point where we take a place and build a home.

I always felt like I was making a wrong decision because on the day that I left, things didn’t go the way that I planned: our goodbye’s were rushed, I let the tears roll down my cheeks, and the music wasn’t set right. I told myself it was foolish to rely on things like that, made-do with the way things were unfolding, and continued on in my journey. However, I believe that things happen for a reason. And every time I hear the words I so desperately wanted to play the day that I drove away, I am reminded more than ever that I made the right move:

Your body may be gone, I'm gonna carry you in.
In my head, in my heart, in my soul.
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both live again.
Well I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Don't think so.

Well that is that and this is this.
You tell me what you want and I'll tell you what you get.
You get away from me. You get away from me.
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell.
I had to think awhile. I had to think awhile.

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