Letting Go

I've looked at every picture.  I revisited each child's elementary school treasure. Every album, journal, class photo, birth announcement, first hair cut, first tooth,  baby shoe, favorite blanket, obituary, momentous news paper clipping, misshaped pottery dish, painted hand print, and glittery Christmas ornament.  I threw away as much as I could.  The cedar chest cannot hold one more good thought.  But it's all there.  Forty five years of memorable events in one 46"x 18"x 14" wood box.  

I'm storing it at my oldest son's home.  I tell him it is still mine, unless something happens to me on the road.  In that case, it's contents belong to both boys.  It is their life, going way back to before either were born.  It is their history.   In a box.  

I've thumbed through every beloved book, scanned each favorite recipe,  burned old love letters and journals.  I've forgiven and released every relationship that didn't end favorably.  I've donated loads of clothes, books, gadgets, and all the excessive matter we collect over the years. The hardest to release are gifts that were given as an act of love.  I've learned to keep the "act" and release the material item, unless it has a functional purpose.  I must minimize my property and expand my memories.  

I think I'm almost ready.  I am tired and several hundred pounds lighter.  I am organized.   I know exactly what I own and where it will be placed in my van.  I have researched and collected the gear and supplies I will need to stay safe in the elements I want to enjoy.  I have contact information with all my friends and family.  They have this blog.   We will stay in touch. 

I am ready. 

The Jump

"Sounds like a mid-life to me."

"With who?"

"You are so brave."

"I'm so jealous!"

These are the comments I hear when I tell folks I'm moving after 30 years on this island. 

"I'm selling everything but the truck and the white boxer and living in my van to have the freedom to hike and write and breathe."

Their silence and contorted face say I can't be of sane mind to give up what is secure.  I can't possibly do it alone.  I am going where others are afraid to step.  But seriously, who wouldn't want to? And why can't I?  

Whether I am down the street or across the nation, I am only as far away as my keyboard or Blackberry.  I can lock it all up and be home within a matter of hours if I need be.  Yet, I can be removed as I want to be.  For the first time in a long time (ever?), I will be as connected or disconnected with/from  society as I feel necessary.  I can put myself in a silent retreat in southern Utah or in the liveliness of a spirited brewpub in Colorado.  

There are physical risks in adventure.  There are mental risks in leading a stagnant life.  I'll take my chances with fulfilling an active life of possibilities and new exploration.  *Cheers!*

Good bye 9 to 5.  Hello possibilities!

Good bye rent.  Hello gas and Park fees!

Good bye electric bill.  Hello solar panels!