Sometimes clarity just happens

...and you know what to do.

As many know, I've been struggling with a decision for quite some time now, in the form of where to go next. I should have known there was something major about it this time, because I just couldn't do it. Couldn't make that final "I'm going there" choice.

But I did tonight, and the decision has been made.

I'm going home.

I can hear a few people out there saying "WHAT??" because it's what I said I wouldn't do, and was not an option. But you know what? It's the one that feels right, and I actually feel good about it. It's not permanent -- oh no, no way could it be! But it is the right thing for now. Do you know how it is when you have someone close to you in your life that balances you? Keeps you sane? And when it's not there, you feel ... lost? That's what I've been missing the last two and a half years.

Yes, it's going to be hard. Yes, it's going to be a huge adjustment. Yes, I will, with absolute certainty, probably be frustrated, annoyed, and a hundred other adjectives. Yes, I'll probably question the decision many times once I'm there.

But I'm okay with it. There are positives. It will be okay, and I'll be okay. Something tells me this is the right thing.

I think about that word "home". It's not my home. I say that because I don't really have a place I call "home". But when I think of the word, ponder a little as to what it really means, perhaps it means where we need to be. Home is where we feel a need to be.

So I guess that's what I mean when I say I'm going home.

I want to get to Egypt before I go, since it's so close, and I will. At least I hope. And Morocco would be nice, too.

Now, though, it's time for the logistics of everything. It's not something that has to be completely figured out right this minute, and I have time.

It's a scary thought to be going back, but I'm actually okay with it. There are a lot of negatives about it, but so very many positives that are outweighing them. I'll be on a coast, the one closest to my little red passport :-) And there's water... it's not an island, but I'll be able to see the water.

I'm coming home. I guess I always knew that one day I would. It's been a long time, a lot of years.

At least for the time being ;-)

Fight or flight

Fear.

I think we (or at least I) tend to think of “fear” in terms of things like …

No way in hell am I allowing you to toss me out of that plane with a pack strapped onto my back, packed by someone else!

You must be totally whacked if you think I’m going to jump off this platform with just a rope tied to my ankles!

Did my pilot (or any of the mechanics) have a big, knock-down drag-out fight with his/her wife/husband/significant other/whatever before sitting down to the controls or fixing that wobbly part?!

Okay.

Generally when I think of fear (except for the above, which enter my mind basically only occasionally), it’s more a matter of “what happens if I don’t find a job there and my money runs out?” Those that know me best know that I have a tendency to jump in with both feet. When normal people think about moving somewhere new, they tend to do things the “right way” – they go for a visit, stay for a few weeks or so, check out the job market, see if they’ll like it, all those good things.

Me? I just go. Suitcases and everything I own in tow. I hope for the best. It helps to know that I do have two people in my life that I can count on no matter what. These two beautiful people in my life will always provide me a safe landing. They are my safe havens, and they know who they are and how much it means to me to have them in my heart.

So. Fear. When I first started this little adventure of mine back in 2001, I was near to bloody fearless! I think you have to be, to do what I did. But I realized last night that something’s happened. I’m all of a sudden afraid to make a new move. I have never taken a year to choose a new place and make up my mind as to where I want to go. Hell, I used to change states in the span of two weeks. Just pack and go. I remember the days when my brother would call me and say “You’d love it here! You must come!” and within two or three weeks I’d be there, off a new adventure discovering new people, new places, filling my eyes with new sights.

Is it because I’ve just turned 50? Perhaps a sense of mortality has come upon me. I have no idea. I’ve been struggling over the past year with choosing a new “home”, going back and forth in my mind about a few various countries. Now, a new possibility has come to light, which is actually one of the first places I thought about a year ago. I had discounted it, because I just wasn’t sure, and put it aside. Obviously it held some appeal to me back then, or I wouldn’t have considered it.

So why am I all of a sudden so fearful of making a move? I wandered along the Thames last night with this mixed-up mind, barely able to think things through logically, all the while berating myself for even having this damn fear! I’m thoroughly disappointed in myself, and feel that I’m letting not only myself down, but also the spirit of the woman who taught me a hell of a lot better than this. She taught me to believe in myself, to go after my dreams, to not let the fear grab hold and prevent me from fulfilling my desires.

Perhaps I simply need to find her spirit again. It’s there, it’s in me, I know it is. I need to let it take hold of me again, and guide me. It has never let me down before.