I wrote this in the beginning of 2015. It was a huge piece of the puzzle for us in selling our house and hitting the road just a little over a year later:
At home lately I’ve realized that I feel like a cog in the American machine. I’ve achieved the “American Dream.” But much to my chagrin, it didn’t bring me eternal bliss, rainbows, sunshine or puppies. I traded my time and talents at my job for money, bought things, and now all those things are like a massive weight on my shoulders. They tie me down. I’m a slave to them. I feel like a weirdo for wanting to reject those things and do something completely crazy. It’s the crazy that makes us come alive. To live outside of our comfort zones. To push the limits of comfort, safety, and familiarity.
I want to come alive. After years of therapy, I’ve concluded that I started conforming, pleasing, and faking at age 8. Before that, I was so free. I was outside all the time playing any sport I could get my hands on, exploring, imagining, pushing the limits. My 6 year old self would be so sad to see how my life has changed, but I think she would have hope for where I’m headed.
Where am I headed? I’ve asked myself that countless times throughout my illness – why me? why this? what now? So, why me – because I was using my God-given talents for the wrong purpose. Why this – apparently it takes a wrecking ball to get my attention. I’m sure there were plenty of road signs along the way that I steamrolled right over, say: extreme fatigue, addiction to caffeine to survive all day, then alcohol all night to calm down, sweating – all. the. time., chronic infections that led to antibiotic overuse, constipation, and on and on. And finally, what now? – It has to be traveling and it has to be being outdoors. That’s what lights my fire. That’s when I’m alive. I know I only have a small puzzle piece to my new life, but it’s an important one and it rules out everything I was doing before.