During the several years I was waiting for my mother to die, I daydreamed about what life would be like when I was finally "free." Free of obligation, free to come and go, free to pick up and leave, free to say no. I had contingency plans for contingency plans, trying to manage and control how it would all go down. Of course, that is always a futile quest, but it relieved my anxiety to plan in excruciating detail for the day when I would finally be free, when I could pack up my meager belongings, and drive away from all my problems.
Tucson didn't turn out to be paradise. You've heard it all before, so I won't bore you with the recap. You remember it all much better than I do, I'm sure. I have to write it out all over again just to remember it, as if I'm watching someone else's biopic. Suffice it to say, rents are too high, summer is sizzling, and after two years, my inner ears have still not settled. This week the ENT admitted she hasn't a clue, which means she thinks I'm crazy.
Two friends I've recently met in real life (who do not know each other) have looked at me with envy, saying things like "You could go anywhere, you could do anything, you're free." These are friends who have some or all of the elements of modern life: money, family, property, obligations, routines, and commitments. They are not free, or they don't perceive they are free. They have security, safety, resources, a home, and they feel trapped. They would trade all that for freedom. So they say. I wonder how the stars in their eyes might dim the first time they had to poop in a bucket.
I felt trapped while I was waiting for Mom to die. And let me just say, I didn't want her to die. I wanted her to be my mother forever, because I never grew up, and I still could really use a mother. However, the hungry baby bird she turned into toward the end needed a lot of care and feeding. I knew the moment would come eventually. She was 91 when she finally kicked off. But she could have lived to 100. I would have been there, right to the end, no matter what, still dreaming of freedom and planning my escape.
Be careful what you wish for. In my irritable chafed wizened life, I didn't really imagine that unlimited freedom could have a downside. I just wanted out. Maybe if I had unlimited resources, total big-ass freedom would be heaven. Maybe someday I'll find out. In this incarnation, however, my freedom is not absolute. I have three big constraints: my health, my car, and my bank account. It's the king hell bummer trifecta of puny-ass freedom. Poor man's freedom. Freedom to drive as long as there is gas in the car and I remember to take my blood pressure pills.
In Tucson, I traded my freedom for a series of ledges on which I could wipe my brow and catch my breath. I fought off roaches and ducked bullets at the Bat Cave. Now I hunker inside a safe but stultifying gated community and dream of my next launch into the stratosphere. At this time I have no ledge to land on. All I know is, I'm headed west. As I my heart pounds and my ear crackles, I am organizing my few possessions. I'm breathing each moment, ignoring the washing machine in my head, wishing I had half the energy of my dynamo housemate, and wondering what the hell I am doing.
I just got off the phone with a friend. Maybe a ledge in the San Fernando Valley has found me, I don't know. More to be revealed. I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile, I whine, but I'm getting things done. I pulled up my britches and bought my own ISBNs. I learned how to format an epub book (for the second time) and uploaded it to a place where librarians might see it. I paid cash for two crowns (and had them installed). I defeated the check engine light with a bottle of mechanic in a can. I walked two miles without falling down once. I started my taxes. I ignored the one inch of snow and celebrated the return of 70F and blue sky. Life happens in the moment, I know. I have to stop trying to run ahead, but old habits die hard.
