Across the country is where I went. It’s what I drove through, and what I planned on doing. Across the country gives me a different world from the one I had.
Crossing the country, thoughts flooded my mind, but the outstanding voice I heard kept saying “are you sure.” It was being posed as a statement, rather than the question it should be. Reassuring myself that this motion I have started isn’t stopping.
Are you sure.
And yep, the only thing to be heard was, YES. Because, at that moment, if it was me asking myself “are you sure” once again, then going cross country would be a feat I’m not sure I could handle. Questioning myself at this point was far beyond okay. Comparable to being asked to go out, as you look down at your pajama pants, too comfy to fathom taking off, and since public is not where these pants belong, public is where you don’t go.
Across the country I went.
Across the country, my world is a little quieter. Across the country, the air feels different, smells different even. Across the country, my life slows down.
Because across the country, my world was skipping on stones peaking out of the water, hopping to a place that felt better than the last. Constant hopping, constant hoping. The unsettling feeling that my feet could get wet at any minute. So, for a moment, I wanted to just be. Be where I was, and feel like I wasn’t looking for the next stone to balance on.
So, sitting on my steady boulder across the country, I see my old world from afar. I can still feel it, and smell it. I can still feel the unsettling feeling that was constantly pricking at my back. That feeling, the reminder of the anxiety that ruled my world, is what makes me content with this boulder I’m on.
Content for a moment, brief it seems to being.
Because, even though across country is what I wanted, needed, back across the country is where I still want to go.
Perspective is what this boulder is giving me. A perspective that I couldn’t see above my skipping stones, not when skipping was all I felt I was doing.
Being unsure is something I would like to be done with. Knowing is hard. It’s scary to me because of its permanent attributes. Leaving something unknown leaves room for change, it gives room for the disappointment that seems inevitable. Because in the end, disappointment is what I was skipping away from, using “I don’t know” as my crutch— Something I could rely on and use to protect myself because vulnerability is where disappointment dwells, waiting to wet your feet.
Not sure if wet socks is something I could go through again, anymore, I skipped so far that it became across the country. But, with a new view, this boulder that I feel so stable on, is in fact, just another skipping stone I find myself balancing on…
But, just now, I hear rain hitting the ground, forming a new layer of water just deep enough for me to get my feet in, which I think, I’ll do on purpose this time.