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Soil

I went to Walmart. Not the normal kind, but a Super Center. I drove around the parking lot to scope out potential parking spots. In the back next to palettes of stacked soil bags. Only one other car parked nearby. A red minivan with a metal ladder strapped to the roof. Perfect. I can blend in here. If a red minivan can be here, then so can I. 

I park front facing the palettes so no one can look in. Thankfully the cheap little SUV I bought had the back windows tinted, so I only had the front windows to worry about.

My cell service stopped working the minute I crossed the bridge from Detroit into Ontario. I was in laying in the back of my car now. Nestled In between my luggage, a sleeping bag, and my travel back pack. The bed was comfortable, but i couldn’t stretch my legs. That’s what you get for buying a compact SUV, idiot. I brought my own memory foam mattress from home. I even brought my bed sheets and pillows. Good pillows are hard to come by.

I laid there. Listening to the rain drops hitting my car. It’s a pleasant sound. Rain just falling. It was my lullaby that night. I drove for 10 hours. Only stopped twice for fuel and food.

I was aching. A little sad about the uncertainty of this outing. How does anyone do this, I wondered. 

I’m afraid of being homeless. Yet here I am sleeping in my car in a Walmart parking lot. 

I thought about my family. My mom, whom I love beyond measure. Someone who taught me what unconditional love was, and that I deserved it.  She’s my best friend. The one who I get every ounce of goodness from. I never wanted to go far from her. It was never easy to be. 

My oldest sister, Khatira. Who always amazed me by her willingness to give. She supported me even when she had little to give. She covered for me even when I should’ve been more responsible. I missed her. It’s funny, you have to go far way sometimes to feel close to people. The important ones. 

Writing while laying in the back of my car that night kept me feeling okay. I felt better writing my thoughts, at least I had my notepad to talk to.

Re:Hope

It seems I’m always in the right place at the wrong time, or in the wrong place at the right time. I can never seem to get the timing right can I?

I think I knew I felt something more for you after the first time we talked on the phone. But I decided there was nothing to be done. You’re in a relationship and I respect that. I’m leaving to go wander the world and it might be years before I see you again in person.

I like you too.

I don’t know where I’ll end up. I don’t know where I’ll wander to. I don’t know where I might wake up and find myself.

I know I’ll think about you often. I’ll wonder if you’re having a good day. I’ll wonder if you’re getting enough sleep . I’ll wonder if you still think about me from time to time. I’ll wonder if you’re happy. I’ll wonder about all the new things you’re seeing and doing. I’ll wonder if you’ve found a feeling of home in your new city. I’ll think about all the subtle ways you’re growing that you don’t really notice. I hope you find a life there that adores you.

I hope you flourish in all the places you find yourself. I hope you feel good things coming into place in your life. I hope you find yourself far from things make you anxious. I hope you leave your worries far out at sea. I hope thinking of me brings a smile to your face. I hope you wonder where I am from time to time. I hope you know you have a friend in me, always. If nothing else makes its way into your ears, I hope you know I care about you.

We’re both stepping through wide open doors. The next chapter in our lives. Chapters to be excited for. Chapters filled with moments to shape us.

I don’t know if there’s anything I could say to comfort how you must feel. How you must feel when you’re being pulled every which way by friends and things you wanna pursue. I’ll just say this. That feeling you feel of being responsible for people’s well being, you’re filled with empathy and compassion. I wouldn’t ever say someone can have too much of that. Having gone through what you have with your family and friends, having lost people close to you.

I don’t ever wanna make you feel like I expect anything from you. I don’t. We are here for such a brief moment. Our lives encompass a moment of a moment. I know I want you in my life. I know you’re important. I know we share a special connection. How it plays out I really don’t know. When I think about us from that perspective, all of the little details just sorta fall away.

I’m want you to walk towards the life you want, and nothing to ever make you stumble. Because you deserve it. You deserve ever bit of joy and comfort and belonging this world has to offer.

I have my own way to go. I want to figure out what to do with this life I’ve been given. I wanna find something to commit myself to. I wanna find a place call my own. It’s taken me so long to get to this point. I’ve lived through so much of my life feeling like a stranger to myself. And now I’m here, in this moment of my life, where I’ve chosen a direction. To be sure of a decision, to look down a path and know there’s something you were meant for as you walk down, I feel that right now. I have never been so sure of a choice. I choose to be the author of my life.

I hope you do too.

Sit

I cant sit still.
It's not like me.
Leave every room I enter.
Every couch I lounge.
Except when I cant help but sit.
So I stay.
And I think.
"Whats going to pull me away?".
So I wait,
For something to pull me through the door.
Through the window my sun sets.
So I stay.
And I think.
"Maybe I can pull the door through me".
I cant sit still, It's not like me.
I can leave this chair and pull this door.
Breathe new air.
I've left my floor.
I cant sit still.
It's not like me.

No Giving Up

“If you make a little progress each day and stick to it, any method works. And if you always quit, nothing works.”

Charles Chu

I remember when I was a kid, I would pickup anything that interested me. I would see another kid on my street playing with his skateboard, so I would do anything to find one. Once I did, I would practice and practice endlessly or at least till the street lights came on. I would find a yo-yo, play with it until my fingers were red from the string cutting off my blood circulation.

But always the interest would fade and I would find some other shiny thing in my hands. I went through a lot of these phases. Looking back now, I would give up and pick something else just when the novelty faded and the real resistance to get better started.

I always gave up.

I never realized it then, but I did. I’m older now, twenty five, and that wonderment has faded a bit. But more importantly my determination has more or less stayed the same since I was a kid.

I recognize this pattern. I can find it at different points in my life. I can find it In high-school. I can find it in college. I can see it cover my experiences with jobs, relationships, friends, and family.

“If you always give up, nothing ever works.”

I found this phrasing tucked away in an article recently. It struck a cord with me. It made me think about why so many of the things I wanted never really worked out. At those times I thought it was just the world against me, but thats what we say when we want comfort more than reality.

Where it was because of boredom or frustration, I give up. But I don’t want to anymore. I feel trapped in a cycle that I’ve created for myself since I was a kid.

You cant find your place, if you never try a place.

No giving up anymore.

It’s all hard. I find myself hoping to stumble on to a place that just clicks into my life. That why I travel. Why I take these risks to leave the quiet, yet mundane comfort of everyday life.

Its like I’m in a restaurant kitchen. I have so many meal order tickets that want my attention.

But every-time I start preparing the ingredients for one dish, I’m distracted by the sound of another ticket printing. So I start making the meal on another ticket. I’ve begun a lot, but really made nothing. All just ingredients sitting chopped on the cutting board. Pots with boiling water. Sauces never poured on top of anything. A kitchen that cooks but doesn’t produce anything.

If you want something to work, work on something.

Where Do We Go?


Where do we go?
Where do we go walking out the front door?
Where do these restless souls take us?
Tired of carrying ourselves.
Out there a few steps past the sidewalks, front lawns, and street lamps lies our everyday.
Are we the mundane?
Are we the miracle?
Are we the hands that hold the sky or the creatures calling it home?
We forget these days.
The moments between the moments.
The passing and going.
The routine and practice.
Where do we go?