Coming Home

As we have shed our address, and 90% of all our worldly possessions, I have come to understand that “home” is a very relative term.

Historically, when I've spent time on the road (which usually means visiting family), I've always enjoyed the moment that I come back - to a space that is entirely mine. It's a place where I get to make the rules, and I can privately unwind without worrying about the mess I'm leaving behind, or if I'm upsetting anyone else's schedule.

I love flopping across my bed and smelling my pillow, stepping into my shower and using all the hot water, and then - after - maybe even walking around n[censored]d for a while. I can browse the fridge without having to worry that I'm about to destroy someone else's lunch for tomorrow, leave my clean clothes in a basket for an extra day or two, and I don't have to worry about what someone else thinks of my sleep schedule.

It's a space where I live in the most active sense of the word, but it's also a place that has the evidence of my life – past, present, and future. That's where I spilled the mineral spirits and ruined the finish on the table; that's MY favorite chair where I like to sit and hold Annabelle; that is MY pile of books I'm planning on getting around to reading...and those are the orange peels that Richard left in the bathroom trashcan, even though I've asked him a million times to only throw food away in the kitchen.

The point is that it's a place where I can stretch out as literally or figuratively as I desire.

We all need a place like that.

But Richard and I decided to forgo that place two months ago when we hit the road indefinitely, for his Viral Storm tour. (For a brief recap, click here.)

The moment it hit me was about 4 weeks ago. Richard and I were headed back to our hotel after having run a couple errands, and he wanted to stop in at Barnes & Noble to work for a while. But I didn't want to. I wanted to... Well, the first thought that came to my mind was “go home.” But then I had to stop and reassess what I really wanted.

If I didn't stay with Richard, then I could go back to The Plaza alone and read, write, or think. If I decided to stay with him, then I could – wouldn't you know it – read, write, or think. There wasn't laundry to catch up on, a lesson to prepare, or a dog to let outside. There was nothing to go to.

That was the moment that I realized that I am my home – and that it is defined by the life that I've chosen to carry around with me. I'd shed all the peripherals; everything that was an outward manifestation of who I was. There weren't old friendships to fall into, or an image to maintain, or bosses to please. They were gone.

It was just me with a journal in my hand. And what would that notebook say? Because almost everything I had in the world was distilled down to the voice within those pages.

And you know how it's nice to think of new beginnings? A new year means new diet goals; returning to school after the summer means possibilities for new friends; moving to a new home means you'll never have a dirty house again.

But is it not true that we often set the same diet goals every year, fall into the same relationships, and keep accumulating clutter in the same places? The new beginning wears off, and then we are left with the same resources we had when we started – ourselves.

That's where our desires, yearnings, successes and failings originate.

Lately, I've had the thrill of these new beginnings almost on a daily basis. The patterns that manifest themselves over a life time are now condensed into days and weeks. I'm setting goals and failing regularly. It's like all of my bad habits are just floating to the top of the pot and that's all that I can see.

I am in very close-quarters with my life these days. It's caused me to reflect deeply, and often, on the qualify of its fibers. I often joke that I start out with big plans for change, but then suddenly it's Wednesday and it's time to do laundry.

Well, now there are no excuses. It's just me, and a whole lot of tomorrows stretching out ahead of me. There aren't any walls to keep me distracted from all the things I'd like to change “when I get around to it.”

It's been exhausting, and it's been invigorating. I feel encompassed about by my shortcomings, yet thrilled by the unlimited possibilities in each day.

I've shed a lot of things these last several weeks, which has opened my eyes to real things it's time to let go of. Letting go of my address has opened up the door to truly coming home – to myself.

And I'm certainly not suffering from a shortage of places to be. One of the things that has become most apparent during this time of reflection is that my home is so much closer to me than I ever realized, and yet it is also so much bigger than I ever imagined.

It is me, and yet it is everywhere.

I want to stretch out on earth. I want this world to hold the evidence of my life. That is MY sunset; that's where I held Richard's hand and discovered a new layer of love; and that is MY horizon – the sum of MY possibilities stretching out in every direction.

How would I be able to breathe anywhere else?

These days, when someone asks me where I'm from, it's an awkward moment for me. Dallas? South Carolina? California?

Perhaps this would be the most accurate answer – for all of us:

I. Am. Here.

I Have a Secret, But This Isn't It

There has been so much going on these last couple weeks, I almost don’t know where to begin. There have been some major developments in our life, some of which I am not ready to disclose entirely (no, I’m not pregnant), so I’m only going to give you samples of our latest happenings.

For one, I didn’t go with Richard when he went to Ventura Beach, California, a couple weeks ago. Instead, he took a friend and I stayed behind and spent some quality time with my cousin and her family. I spent my time laughing, talking, and leaving sweet little love notes for everyone.

 

While there, I went on long walks by myself, and even longer walks with my cousin and her kids (and I mean “longer” in its most exaggerated sense. We carried children and bicycles, and pushed strollers and bodies until we finally got home).

I loved these walks because they took us by a little farmyard teaming with life. They had goats, donkeys, pigs, geese and a turtle – all in the same pen!

We celebrated Halloween while I was there. I didn’t dress up, but my cousin and her family did. They were adorable. She crocheted that little hat for her daughter; my favorite part is those cute antennae. Also, that’s real mechanic’s grease on my cousin’s husband. He said, “It’s so hard to stay clean while you’re working on cars, but I seriously had to scrape around to find this stuff for my costume. How ironic!”

But while my life was taking on a steady, comforting monotony, Richard was behind the scenes conducting an orchestra of change.

I will only say that it looks like we are going to be hanging up our travelling shoes for a while, and spending some time in southern California.

I have a lot to say about that, but for now, let me just say that there are worse places to end up than Paradise. I mean, look at these pictures!! Mountains AND the beach; oranges growing in my front yard; 70 degree weather in November (and apparently most of the rest of the year, too).

Mountains + Beach = Happy Weilers

Richard striking his usual "king of the world" pose.

Like I said - Happy Weilers!

Awww...

We’ll still be doing a ton of travelling, but it will have more of the business-suit feel instead of the gypsy flare. (In fact, we’re on the road this week already. I’m hanging out at my sister’s in Oklahoma while Richard is at an event in Nashville).

I’ve really had to take some time to seriously orient myself to this change of plans, which hasn’t been easy, considering the whole road-warrior thing was still so fresh. But I’m happy about this new direction, and I’m sure it will prove to be a great blessing for both Richard AND me (but more on that another time).

For now, Annabelle, my little pup, will still be staying with my sister as we work out the details on our permanent arrangements. (She's been there since we hit the road last month.) I've missed her sorely, but I’m enjoying soaking in her presence as I spend some time at my sister’s in Oklahoma this week.

I have missed my dog much more than I thought I would. There are times that she crosses my mind in an unexpected moment, and all I can do is slump into a chair and wait for the ache to pass. I am so glad to be spending time with her right now. As much as I felt the weight of her absence, being with her again is as natural as breathing. It feels like I never left…

I’m embarrassed to even admit how much she means to me. After all, she’s just a dog, right?

Which one of us looks happier? 

But really, she’s been more than a dog to me. She’s some grossly distorted version of a child-dog hybrid. (Note: This would be a good time to laugh. If it isn't funny, then the alternative is that I'm just really disturbed O_o.) 

She keeps my house from being too quiet and feeling too empty. Honestly, at my sister's, she’s probably being treated like a dog for the first in her life.

And I’m so relieved to find that she hasn't transferred her loyalties and affections entirely to my sister (who is taking GREAT care of her, by the way). As much as I've hoped for them to bond this last month, I was dreading, and even had a nightmare about, the possibility that they would have bonded so thoroughly that I would be hogwash to Annabelle.

But as soon as I saw her, she alleviated my worries. She wouldn't stop licking me for the whole 40-minute ride back to my sister's, and when I woke up the next morning, she just laid there and stared at me. Very sweet.

Although, I have to say here that the night before that beautiful awakening, it seemed my worst fears had come true. When I went to go to bed, I found that Annabelle was already locked away in my sister’s bedroom! To make matters worse, she’d gone in there on her OWN.

I was so upset. I paced outside my sister’s door, wondering how much of a creeper I'd seem if her husband woke up to find me snooping around their bedroom on my hands and knees. In the end, I decided a long-term relationship with my sister was more important, so I went to bed, sulking.

And sucking on sour grapes.

My sister's dog laying claim to my bed...

In fact, I decided, “Fine. She takes my dog, I take hers!” So I proceeded to try and cuddle with my sister’s 55 lb. dog for the night. Well, first of all, she was more interested in having me cuddle her butt. Second of all, she tired of my embrace very quickly; it only took her about 20 seconds to find somewhere else to sleep.

Hmph.

To make matters worse, the dog was still in my room the next morning when she heard the dog-knappers rise. She promptly jumped on my throat and thrashed me with her forearms until I let her out.

(Although none of this keeps her from claiming my bed during the day.)

But the happy ending came when my sister let Annabelle into my room early that morning. She promptly snuggled into me, and all of my grievances were forgotten...almost.

Coming up next: reflections on my time on the road.