This, an anniversary of sorts

So.  A year ago today, I woke early and realized it was the first day of the rest of my days.  MOVING DAY!  Time to get the fuck out of the north and go my ass home.  The move was a long time coming, and I was ready.  Or at least, I thought I was.

In the morning, I picked up the Uhaul, and waited for Ghost and Buck to arrive from Cincinnati.  Snow began to fly and I was such a jumbled mess of nonsense.  The life I thought I’d been paving for the last almost-decade was over, and that’s a hard realization to accept.  I called Anya and she talked me off the ledge, reminding me that my actions were needed and necessary.  That helped.  A lot.  I messaged with Efed, and she called to mind the moments that helped me make my decision to come home. 

Feeling better, I returned to my suburban house and vowed that it would be the last time I let the weight of the expectations of others best my own desires and goals.  Ghost and Buck arrived and we loaded the Uhaul full of plastic totes, my life compacted into what I deemed necessary to bring back.  Ghost remarked that when I moved to Columbus eight years prior, we used a small trailer on the back of the Willis’s Jeep.  That I needed a 24 foot truck seemed to suggest some progression, he told me.   I couldn’t agree more.

Ghost drove the truck and I followed behind in my Honda.  At his house in the burbs, Buck, Ghost and I made quick work of unloading the truck.  We stowed much of my life possessions in the basement, but I kept out what I thought I’d need to sustain my new life.  Buck left, Ghost had to tend to the kids and I was left in the nursery converted wayward bedroom wondering what the fuck I was doing with life.

Unpacking my totes, I landed on my Ganesh statue, my journal and a few pieces of raw rose quartz.  These items reminded me two things.  Firstly, staying humble is paramount to any kind of progression in life and secondly … everything I’ve ever needed has been right here, all along.

Today, I’m cautiously optimistic that this first year has happened the way it should.  I’ve managed to write a novel, complete two short story collections and two poetry manuscripts, and see a bit of the world.  Not too shabby for three hundred and sixty five days.  I’m so excited for what’s next.  I return to this day as an example of a moment of pure gratitude.  Not only did Ghost open his home to me with no questions asked, but he offered me the foundation I needed to begin … again.