We are laying in different beds in the same cheap motel room. One of us is crying but I’m not sure either of us is really sad. We are just together in this moment and this is what truth tends to look like— “one entity divided in two, melodrama– taking shit too seriously, nothing but laughing and crying.” In some way, this is what it always looked like. In some way, this is what I have been missing. In some way, this is right where I belong. In some other ways, this is somewhere I don’t know how to be anymore. And that’s okay. It really is.
Just shy of three weeks ago, I picked up Bryan Bramlett at the BART station in Fremont, California. We stopped by a grocery store and then ate quinoa salad in the parking lot by a small tree. It was sunny and hot outside and the sky was that particular blue that looks like promise, like hope. That night, we didn’t make it out of California. We took our time and over the next few days, made our way along the southern route of the United States back to Georgia.
Over the course of those five days, everything about my life shifted while everything stayed exactly the same. Unlike the trip toward California, I drove most of the way. I didn’t have trouble staying awake. I didn’t feel like I was running away from anything. I didn’t feel like I was losing anything. I just felt this sense of clockwork and peace, even with the funky cloud above my head that has been following me around for a long while now. I just felt sure I was doing the right thing, whatever that means. Bryan and I ate good food in Oklahoma, talked about God while the sun was setting across the top of Texas, got real confrontational along the highway in the middle of absolutely nowhereseville, listened to old mixes we’d made for each other when we were in a different place, and I thought about every thing I might have just given up back in California, all of the sun and lack of bugs and my girls and all of the beauty of what lives there, all of the things that have been my life for three years. And I thought about how even thinking about those things, nothing would change how I felt about what I needed to do right now, how I just needed to be back in Georgia for no good reason doing not too much of anything important to anyone else. If we are quiet, we always know exactly what we need. I have told so many people so many things about why I left or why I came back but the truth is I still am not sure what the ‘why’ of it is, only that the incessant beating in my heart told me again just to “go” and the way it directed me was where I never really left. I don’t know why I went to California or what is going to happen now that I am back here. I’m not certain where I will go next, only that I am sure I am better for going and also better for coming back. I am happy and sad and hopeful and still working off some lingering depression, and that is the most I could ever ask for. I am not anxious. I am not worried. I’m not scared or confused. Just letting things feel how they feel and doing my best to just be.
People close to me have always made me expect big things from myself, by the way they tell me I am destined for something great or like I am capable of something really important. I am not sure if that is actually true but I think I have always lived my life like it would be some day. I think even if I never find out what that great thing is, or if I never find out whether or not I am capable of creating great change, I will always be able to look at my life and say I tried. I could not ask more of myself than that.
Since being back in Georgia, I have spent at least three hours every Monday walking around malls with my dad, Paul. We talk, and he makes weird comments to strangers. We wander up and down aisles and buy almost nothing. The rest of the week is running around, being Santa’s helper, hugging my mom as many times as I see her, listening to my older sister’s completely infectious laugh, catch up with my friends, listen to the crappy music on Atlanta radio, listen to people tell me about their jobs or girlfriends or problems or praises, and fall asleep on the couch like I always have. I play with my cat and I take wrong turns and I enjoy my life. If nothing else, for now, I have that.
A huge credit to my dear friend Bryan. I am grateful for our many journeys together and for all the beautiful music inside of you that you have shared with me. I know I would not have felt so much security during this transition without support from you. From the A to the Bay, forever love.
Shoe Bird. 