Sunday, August 14, 2011
I hate this city. I do not want to be here in ten years from now. This place has nothing to offer me. I did not plan to move here.
We came back because my father-in-law was dying. I spent all my savings with an unplanned change of plans and then I got stuck here.
I had two weeks to pack, sell or donate the things we could not keep. At least I did not have to worry about my travel arrangements as my secretary was taking care of that, I thought. I was wrong, we have two cats and we could not take both of them in same flight during the winter time. After days of talking back and forth with the airline, my husband and I had to take different flights so we could bring the cats with us.
My husband traveled two days ahead of me and I staid behind taking care of the last details and finish packing. Fortunately, I had plenty of help from friends and friends of friends. I was not entirely alone. I had also the youngest and craziest cat keeping me company and making me laugh.
I will always remember this woman, who helped me pack the rest of my stuff, said to me: "You know, I find that the most stressful situations in life are: moving, marrying and the dead of a close one." I turn to her smiling "Then I guess I just hit the jackpot. Got married three months ago, I am moving to place more than 5000 miles away so my husband can say goodbye to his dad who is dying of cancer and ..." a brief moment of silence " and I have to finish my PhD thesis in the next couple of months". One may have expected that after this another moment of silence and sadness would follow but surprisingly we started laughing and then joking. A moment of dark humor followed instead and it helped me went through the day without stressing. This was the last day I remember being relax and feeling free with options. I have been anxious and stressed since then, except yesterday. Later in the afternoon I went jogging.
For the first time in a long time I felt mindful. I did not give up or fought with myself constantly not to do it. I held my head high and my back straight instead of head down and looking at the ground. I could not care less about who was looking at me, if I looked like chubby chick running or care about the guys staring at my boobs bouncing. All I cared was how good it felt running, having the wind blowing on my face and feeling the warm sunlight on my skin. I was enjoying myself and the world around me. No stress, no struggle, only peace of mind.
The route was endless but I felt I could run forever. When I first saw the finish line I did not whine about how far it was and how badly I wanted to give up. I speed up. When I finished my arms were up in the air with glory.
I head home. I walked down the street and saw that the "crackheads" and the "white trash" had been replaced by these beautiful people: a tiny old lady in a cowboy hat walking her tiny dog, a group of young people talking and laughing, a young man in his bicycle riding towards the sunset, the kid playing with his roller skate. Not once my head was down looking at my feet. I knew I was taking the right steps because I was home.