I began yesterday with a complete road map of what the day would hold, full tank of gas and keys to a bitchin’ virtual Ferrari to get me there. By noon, I’d somehow ended up in the deep end of a swimming pool clutching a plugged-in toaster, wearing a bathing suit made of tinfoil.
Funny how life turns on a dime.
While I am in Los Angeles for the remainder of January, it’s not all sun, fun and games – it’s business as usual, only in a different locale. Granted, this locale has been in the 70s, sunny and fucking awesome for bike riding weather (not to mention Trader Joe’s — I’d hump a weasel to get one in Denver), and I do have a world-class velodrome where I can get my ass kicked a few days a week, but it’s business as usual for this ordinary, everyday girl.
The past 30 days have found me chasing a birth control pill across the bathroom floor of a Motel 6, watching a very pregnant friend become even more so with each passing day and hours spent in LA traffic that remind me of the many reasons I left California back in 2005. There are days where I think I can finally do better at moving forward to what’s next after losing Jason and then the next, I fall face-first down a flight of emotional stairs. And yeah, I’d give anything to get laid. I’m fairly sure that Battlestar Galactica was in its first (original) season the last time that happened. And yes, that’s an exaggeration. But then I realize that I haven’t been built for the “zipless fuck” in years – and so I accept the fact that I chose to travel without battery-powered personal appliances and I go to sleep.
At least I’ve been sleeping well.
And life doesn’t suck and I’m not depressed. I’m just dealing with the “becoming” part of the process for an ordinary, everyday girl. The best part of it all is no matter how many times I laugh, ride my bike, cry, scream, giggle, finish a project, earn a new one, rub my girlfriend’s belly, hug my dogs, miss my cats or get honked at on the 101 freeway, I remain an ordinary, everyday girl. There’s a delight in the ordinary. I think we exhaust ourselves pretty often trying to be exceptional that we lose sight of what it means to be the 38-year-old girl standing in from of a RedBox machine at 9:32pm on a Tuesday outside of a 7-11. We forget what cooler, humid air feels like and how it differs from a dry cool in the depths of January. Broken sidewalks remind us of what it feels like to walk somewhere instead of bitch about what it costs to register your new car. The homeless guy in the wheelchair with no legs reminds me what a gift it is to ride one bike on a regular basis and makes the other four in my cache seem a bit excessive.
Getting the hell out of Denver has been fantastic and its hard to believe I’ve been gone for 21 days now. I’ll be headed back in 11. New rental digs? Check. House hunt? Initiated. Taxes? Yes, goddammit. FML – they are nearly done and my new CPA will be impressed. Book deals? Hanging in the balance with teeth-clenching anticipation that THIS will be the year I can write BOOKS for a living (well, PART of my living since I ain’t Stephen King). And this is all important.
Because I’ve never been without foundation.
I’ve not never known where I live, where I was going to live next. I’ve always had that foundation. I yanked the emotional rug out from under myself in 2005 when I ended my engagement, realizing that I’d spent the past 14 years of my life in a series of long-term relationships. From December 5, 2005 until mid-summer 2009, I was effectively single. Dates here and there, some dismal pseudo-relationships, but single. And it was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.
Being homeless is the second best.
I’m an ordinary, everyday girl who gave life time to catch up with me. After running so fast, so hard, and for so long, finding myself in a place of uncertainty was…well, quite normal. Quite ordinary. And it smells kinda like dryer sheets instead of shit on your shoe. There’s a serenity in the uncertainty. It makes me think better. More productive. And fucking vulnerable (don’t LIKE but appreciate). With every colossal screw-up comes a small victory, and with each of those, a smile. And a reminder that I’m no different than anyone walking the streets of Los Angeles who has no goddamn clue what’s going to happen next.
I’m not counting down the days until I leave LA, but I am looking forward to being back in Colorado once again. It’s home, and nothing’s made that sentiment more clear than this journey that began back on December 27. It’s a pretty big foundation to build something on, the entire state of Colorado, but I have an idea where I’m going to begin.
And between you and me, I’m giddy like a schoolgirl to see what it ends up looking like. <insert schoolgirl picture here>