Mine

Today is August 1st.

Today I was supposed to leave the country.  For a whole year.  I was supposed to abandon and empty and set forth and join a race.  A race which would take me to eleven countries in eleven months with a group of at least 60 young radicals who had done and were doing the very same thing.

But instead, today I woke up in a tiny little apartment.  Tucked far back off the road.  With four white walls and space only for me.  Boxes piled high, I am reminded of a strange night in Richmond when I was just a tiny girl:

After moving into a duplex, before Olivia was even born, I remember waking up to the shadows of unpacked boxes stacked high in my bedroom.  From the top bunk of the red bunk bed, I thought my mom was sitting at a desk in my room.  I remember calling her name.  But she never answered. (I still feel like that sometimes.  Just not about my mom.)


This morning I woke up and sunlight poured into my apartment.  Early, I got a text message from my sister, reminding me of what day today was.  Reminding me of the decision I'd made, intuitively confirming that I'd made the right one.

Breath.  Skin.  Dark against light.  I laid in bed for longer than I should have.  Wondering how we get here -- to these places.  Thinking about the plans I'd made back in May.  Plans for sabbatical, plans for rest.

Today I do not feel rested.  Today I do not feel like I've accomplished a thing.

And yet I know better.  I know better.  I know that this summer was not about rest.  It was about removal.  I know that the things I chose to spend my time on, to pour myself into, were worth my time.  For the most part.  The lessons I've learned were lessons I never anticipated learning.  The decisions I've made were decision I never intended to make.  The experiences I've had have been less grand than I had imagined, and made more of an impact than I ever could have anticipated.

Hm.  I suppose we call that life.  The best laid plans ... 


So instead of packing my life into an internal frame pack, I packed it into boxes.  I moved across town, by myself this time.  Deep into the neighborhood I've longed to call home for four years.  Into a small little space that is all my own.  Mine.

Life will happen here.  In Apartment 6.  My own journey.  My own new adventure.

I am pushing back.  Learning about myself and questioning the world.  Finding truth and lies in the tension.

In two days I will leave the country.  Board a plane with a small pack and a camera and I will fly as fast as I can to a tiny little place that most of the world has forgotten.  And I will sit.  Sink.  Melt.

Breath.  Skin.  Dark against light.  My arms are aching to hold.  To feel the heavy trust of a child resting in between my shoulders.  The sweet devotion of his hand in mine.  Tiny fingers.  Big smiles.  Watery eyes.

It's been a long time since I've felt anything.

But today I was supposed to leave.

And I didn't.

Instead, I woke up.  In the 6th apartment.  And in my own way, today, I launched.

On my own race.  On my own adventure.  In my own way I will travel the world.  In my own way I will seek God and love people; in my own time I will discard the things of this world, and at my own pace I will make mistakes.  And learn from them.

August 1st.

After all that's happened, how could I even pretend to know what's coming next?