Waking up here

During the last moments at our house, I made the following comment to Jim:

"It just amazes me how all of this "stuff" that you always think you can't live without, has now been in boxes for almost a month, and I haven't used it, haven't needed any of it. We think all this stuff is so important...when in truth, I could live out of a bag."

Unpacking provides a great opportunity to review one's life. I am surprised at how I've been able to welcome the changes in routine and organization. (For Ms. Organization herself, this is no easy feat!) In this new place, I am embracing simplicity and wanting to shed many unneccessary belongings. I have much less space here, for one. No linen closet or garage. No basement to store all that "important stuff" in. Why do I have two televisions when I never even turn one of them on?

So I'm methodically going through all my Rubbermaids. I open the lid of "Derek's box" and the scent of Emporio by Armani wafts up to me. I looked out my window at the gazebo on a gorgeous sunny day. I thought about my life, before and since. I thought about dying. I thought about the difficulty of learning to rise in the morning with hope and expectation. I thought about 5 full-time semesters of school and work. I thought about marriage and divorce. I thought about The Job. I looked back down at the packet of photos of my swollen, broken body. As they always do, the tears came, but these days they're different. I walked to the window and went to my knees.

"Lord I can't believe I am here. Unpacking a bunch of beautiful things that I don't need. I am so lucky. Okay financially. Divorced but again, okay. In my own place, right where I wanted to be. I have a family. I have friends. I'm alive and soaking up this beautiful world. I have come...no, You've brought me so far..."

I continued to sort, relive, cry, smile. There is the framed photo of Shelly and I at the ocean. The heirloom wedding ring quilt from Mom (which I can now actually use, being without a four-legged, muddy-pawed, much-missed bed thief ). A beaded wind chime from Sharon. A glittering ornament from Chelsea. Elegant garden lanterns from Lorrie. The antique brass mortar & pestle from Grandma. A delicate dragonfly-etched glass paperweight from Jim. Heartfelt cards and a stuffed purple Duck from Jean.

The sadnesses of my life continue to fall away.

The Memory Box holds a newspaper article about my parents' birthing classes. I unearthed a first-place science contest ribbon for creating a musical scale by filling glass soda bottles with water, then playing a song on them - 11 years old, and I remember how I enjoyed this! I cradled funeral programs from my friends Jackie and Dan - one dead at 19, the other at 15. I pulled out my TEC speech from my senior year - a painful account of rebellious and dangerous behavior and heartache (oh, if I'd known what was to come). I look at pictures of myself then and shudder when I remember being so lost in my own life. Elizabeth's birth. My wedding album. The AA degree I remain so proud of because I finished something I was so determined to have.

I threw so much away. I don't need to cling any longer. I am awash in good memories and they're not "out there" in the things I have. They can't be lost because they're inside.
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"A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving." - Lao Tzu

Despite the disorienting, emotional rollercoaster, I'm getting used to waking up here. Foremost, my piano and the Internet have finally arrived! The birds are incredible - it's like waking up in an aviary. I was so worried that I'd miss the rural solitude and beauty of the country - but I've found several scenic and uncrowded routes to work. I can walk around a pond, read in the gazebo, and I am a short bike ride from Otter and Bald Eagle lakes. It's surprisingly quiet for an apartment building - everyone is so pleasant. I'm programmed into the buzzer system and finally getting my mail. The person who parks next to me drives a Lexus, and this always makes me laugh - a Lexus in an plain old apartment complex.

If I have one complaint, however, it's the number of SIRENS passing over Hwy. 96. (Okay...and the icky cat smell in the closet) I remember how I always used to notice this freeway exit when I would be heading home to Pine City from St. Kate's, and how I always had a strong urge to exit here even though I still had 54 miles to go. It makes me wonder if I was always destined to arrive at this place in the world and in my heart. Stumbling all the way, but isn't that the only way it goes? I value the lessons learned on this journey. I am grateful for peace, today.