Transparency, baby. Texas is HOT

I’m sitting on the front patio of a coffee shop because every spot inside is taken. Upon sitting down, I can already feel the perspiration above my upper lip start to accumulate. I’ve already had enough coffee this morning, and the small sips I take of the cold brew I just ordered are making my foot shake more than usual.

Never would I thought that I would be living in Texas. Never. In fact, if you asked me in high school, Texas would probably be the last place I ever would have seen myself. Texas is historically the reddest state, and I never thought I’d want to take on the constant heat. But, here I am, sweating my ass off in my jeans at this coffee shop. And you know what? I’m perfectly content. To my fellow wanderers, you know the life of adjusting to new scenery. With it comes excitement for new beginnings along with the slight terror of it all.

I gotta say, I was pretty damn nervous to make this move. Typically in my past experience, the first month of adjusting to a new state, a new home, is rough as hell. I won’t get into the details of it all because it touches a little too personal on my being and honestly my pride, but getting through the first month is a feat.

Pushing through my own comforts and boundaries has been what makes my wandering spirit happy. It also has shown me that I need to set aside more time to be with myself and to recharge. Just because you ask for change doesn’t mean you need to excel in it every second of every day. It’s a balance, and over the years I have become very in tune with myself and can feel quickly when I start to lose my grasp on my emotions. Resetting, for me, is a necessity or else my anxiety skyrockets and takes over.

I have one of those calendar things where it tells you new wisdom-full things every day. There’s a page that I always think about. Without completely butchering the quote from some great monk that said it, I’ll paraphrase: living in the past causes depression, living in the future causes anxiety. It’s in the moment, the present, that you want to be. There you will find the joy and happiness you’re looking for.

So, as difficult as it may be sometimes, I’m finding myself in the moment. I’m understanding what works for me and (trying) to push away what anyone else’s perceived thoughts are about me. Like, right now I could worry about my sweat running down my arm and leaving deodorant streaks on my black shirt, but you know what, it’s cooling me off so I kind of like it.

Mountain Time

My car radio has been set to the time of a place in a different time zone. For a year. When daylight savings time came around, I moved the hour—not to my time, but to the one I intended to get to. When I needed to know the time, I’d add two hours from what the clock read. Everyone who got into my car tried to change my clock, but I wouldn’t let them. “I’ll be there soon enough,” I’d say.

Call me nuts, but intentions manifest into reality.

Because here I go, heading to the time on my car radio.

To the across

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.