I’m in good company: People have been going on retreats for millennia, seeking whatever they believe they are missing. Wellness, connection, adventure, God. I’m not lookingn for anything fancy. I want some time, peace, and solitude so I can get back to my writing.
Of course, it’s true, I have so far not been able to find affordable housing, but that doesn’t mean going on a writing retreat is proof that I’m a colossal failure. The stock of affordable housing is low right now. It’s a structural problem, not a personal moral failing on my part. Yes, it’s a moral failing on the part of American society, and I suppose you could say I’m part of that, but seriously, as a bleeding heart liberal, I always vote on the side of the homeless. Homeowners need to stop complaining about their property values and practice a little compassion. We are all one tornado, one hurricane, one wildfire, one flood away from homelessness. If you think your homeowner’s insurance policy will save you, think again.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. Writing retreat. Not a failure. I could claim it as a victory of sorts. If all goes according to plan, I will be able to live within my means while being creative, productive, and maybe even helpful to others, if I can figure out how to have occasional access to the internet.
Some of my friends have expressed fear and anxiety on my behalf. I understand. Being homeless is one of their worst fears. To them, homelessness represents a massive catastrophic failure of some kind, usually on the part of the one who has become homeless. I hope my friends will remember they still have their housing. They have little to fear. They are not the ones who will soon be living in a minivan. Probably. In addition, I hope they realize that projecting their fears onto me will not make anyone safer or more secure. Please, friends and loved ones, I am not responsible for your anxiety. It is not possible for me to live my life in such a way that you have no fear.
Seeking the road less traveled was cool when I was young. Being a bohemian artist, out till all hours, sleeping on friends’ couches, mucking up strangers’ beds. I could dress as wild as I pleased, it was part of my mystique, my creative self-expression, if you will. My style. I was highly invested in looking strange, acting weird, being unpredictable.
Now I’m old, and I care very little about what others think of me. Newsflash to only me: I was never unpredictable. I realize that now. My path was laid out for me from the moment I chose art over accounting. Anyone could have seen what was coming, even me, if I’d cared to look, which I did not. Living in the moment doesn’t involve a lot of self-reflection or concern for the future. I always assumed somehow it would all magically work out.
If by “working out,” I meant living an unorthodox, creative, road-less-traveled sort of life, well, by golly, I got what I asked for. Nobody thought to ask me how I defined success. I certainly never asked myself. Success meant doing what I wanted on my own terms. Ha. Boy, look how successful I have become! By that definition, I am a total success!
The tradeoff is that I have had to be willing to give up the trappings that come with a traditional definition of success. Career, house, family, wealth. Ho hum. The truth is, I’d be living in a Ford Focus if it weren’t for the random fact that my mother died before she spent all her money. Thanks, Mom. Still miss you, by the way. Hope you are enjoying that wind-blown, shrub-lined grotto we dumped you in last month. (I’m using the word “grotto” in the most generous sense and the word “dumped” in the most literal sense.) I still feel a little iffy about how that went down, but at least you are out of the box and gone with the wind. That can’t be a bad thing. I hope someday someone does the same for me.
So, what I was I saying? Oh, yeah, retreat. I’m in retreat. I’m going on a retreat. I’m following in the footsteps of millions, it’s definitely a road well traveled. Adventures could happen, miracles could occur, disasters could ensue. Anything is possible, whether you are a believer or not.
Fear is everpresent. Some fear is healthy. I hope not to meet a bear, for example. However, other fears are barriers to living. Taking a chance means I don’t know what will happen. What’s behind Door No. 3? Will it be a bear? Will it be a broken leg? Will it be a creative life filled with meaning and purpose? I won’t know unless I open the door.
