Layover of my Life
11/5/11
In March of '10 I began to run. I started to run from the life I'd been hiding behind for 17 and a half years. While not a runner, I should be more specific and say that I began to walk. My walks began slowly and in some rather inclement weather conditions. Escaping after dinner each night, I'd announce my need to walk. I'd head out with my music and my link to the life I hoped to run to, my cell phone.
At first the walk was a simple route and my goal was to only be gone 30 minutes. Long enough to slip away and get lost in the seasons as winter melted away and spring showed promise of warm days to come. As my visual landmarks got further away each night, I would tell myself that it was bad luck to only make it to the murder house, the church and the cemetery. Eventually I was making it all the way to the next road, where superstition told me it was safe to turn around and head home. My nightly escape was just under an hour. Long enough to listen to an entire cd, check my email, txt a friend and if I was lucky, talk to the man who was waiting for me on the other side of the world. My walk became an addiction and it was something that I had to do each night. It seemed to be the only thing in my life I had control over as the rest of my life was spinning wildly out of control. On those walks I was able to gain perspective. I was able to hear through the static.
I missed only a handful of days between March and July. In March I faced days where I could not feel my thighs when I returned home. Frozen to the core I was able to numb the pain I would feel upon returning home, at least until the heat thawed them and I returned to my pretend life. In July, the heat I endured would leave me an exhausted sweaty mess, reminding me of how close to hell I was as I indulged in sin after sin.
Sometime that summer, as my pretend life began to unravel and small glimpses were given to the outside players, I decreased my walks. The distraction they provided were no longer conducive to the complete focus I needed at home to juggle both lives and do what I needed to do to keep my flight delayed. Ready to board the plane at any moment and depart for a new life, I had to wait until all passengers had boarded.
The seasons once again changed and with winter just a flip of the calendar away, my walking plan ended. My life was on a full speed marathon and it was all that I could do not to fall, get trampled and perhaps even die. Survival soon replaced escape as my goal.
In the blink of an eye, my life changed and I had to board the plane. It made a quick departure but was not able to reach its destination in one shot. The jet needed some repairs, the GPS had to be upgraded, and some of the luggage was left behind at the airport. Legal details like passports had not been finalized and the underage passengers needed to be brought up to date on the travel plans.
So as my plane sits on the tarmac, waiting for my companion and the flight to be cleared for take off, I am being put up in a hotel. I am content to sit with my thoughts and focus on my new goals. I have tried to go out and walk around the grounds of the hotel and clear my head, but the act takes me back to March of '10 and the emotions which forced me out of my house after dinner. The surroundings are different, the route not the same, but inside I am the same person reliving that time of my life. I feel the climate changes and taste the air. I wonder who I am and how I got here.
I know that when I get to a place which I am able to call home again, with an authentic life, I will be able to go out and enjoy walking again. There will be new goals and new feelings and eventually a new identity with a new name. But at this time, I do not feel at home. I am in purgatory...I am in between pretend and real....I am laid over.
At first the walk was a simple route and my goal was to only be gone 30 minutes. Long enough to slip away and get lost in the seasons as winter melted away and spring showed promise of warm days to come. As my visual landmarks got further away each night, I would tell myself that it was bad luck to only make it to the murder house, the church and the cemetery. Eventually I was making it all the way to the next road, where superstition told me it was safe to turn around and head home. My nightly escape was just under an hour. Long enough to listen to an entire cd, check my email, txt a friend and if I was lucky, talk to the man who was waiting for me on the other side of the world. My walk became an addiction and it was something that I had to do each night. It seemed to be the only thing in my life I had control over as the rest of my life was spinning wildly out of control. On those walks I was able to gain perspective. I was able to hear through the static.
I missed only a handful of days between March and July. In March I faced days where I could not feel my thighs when I returned home. Frozen to the core I was able to numb the pain I would feel upon returning home, at least until the heat thawed them and I returned to my pretend life. In July, the heat I endured would leave me an exhausted sweaty mess, reminding me of how close to hell I was as I indulged in sin after sin.
Sometime that summer, as my pretend life began to unravel and small glimpses were given to the outside players, I decreased my walks. The distraction they provided were no longer conducive to the complete focus I needed at home to juggle both lives and do what I needed to do to keep my flight delayed. Ready to board the plane at any moment and depart for a new life, I had to wait until all passengers had boarded.
The seasons once again changed and with winter just a flip of the calendar away, my walking plan ended. My life was on a full speed marathon and it was all that I could do not to fall, get trampled and perhaps even die. Survival soon replaced escape as my goal.
In the blink of an eye, my life changed and I had to board the plane. It made a quick departure but was not able to reach its destination in one shot. The jet needed some repairs, the GPS had to be upgraded, and some of the luggage was left behind at the airport. Legal details like passports had not been finalized and the underage passengers needed to be brought up to date on the travel plans.
So as my plane sits on the tarmac, waiting for my companion and the flight to be cleared for take off, I am being put up in a hotel. I am content to sit with my thoughts and focus on my new goals. I have tried to go out and walk around the grounds of the hotel and clear my head, but the act takes me back to March of '10 and the emotions which forced me out of my house after dinner. The surroundings are different, the route not the same, but inside I am the same person reliving that time of my life. I feel the climate changes and taste the air. I wonder who I am and how I got here.
I know that when I get to a place which I am able to call home again, with an authentic life, I will be able to go out and enjoy walking again. There will be new goals and new feelings and eventually a new identity with a new name. But at this time, I do not feel at home. I am in purgatory...I am in between pretend and real....I am laid over.
