sometimes I feel like the thing I hate the most is my lack of (perceived) stability at times. when Matt was alive, even when he was in the hospital or not doing well, I still felt basically stable and grounded and assured of his love for me. I knew that as long as he was alive, he’d be with me.
now though, not only do I realize that I am never really assured of stability, but I also don’t have anyone in my life who is committed to loving me as much as Matt did. there are two sides of that coin; on the one hand, it means that I could pretty much pick up and go anywhere – I have no real roots in Nashville anymore except Katie. on the other hand, this makes me feel like I’m drowning sometimes. or like I’m drifting in the ocean, and am affected by everything that causes a current near my life. I have never been good at accepting and embracing instability.
sometimes I feel like withdrawing from everyone except my closest and dearest friends, and spending more time in the woods. I’m going to try to at least spend time in the woods this weekend. I know the woods – they are my friends. they have always been there for me, and always make me feel better, and I feel at home in them. in the woods, I almost feel more whole than I do when I’m at home.
No Promises This Time 
This resonates in me so much. There’s a lot of this that I understand. (I envy you that you have Radnor…but I guess I have the Smokies. I need to get out in them.)
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This might be a pretty opportune time in your life to go the Thoreauvian ascetic route and retreat from society. I thought of doing that back in summer of 1998, when I had no friends and college wasn’t going well. I calculated that, since there are 150 calories in a half-cup of raw oatmeal, all I needed was 10 cups a day to provide a 3,000-calorie-a-day diet. About 24 bushels of oatmeal, then, would last a year.
Then all I would need to do was find someplace in the woods where there was a supply of water, and assemble a shed in which to live. Since I was religious at the time, I probably figured I would just study/memorize the Bible to occupy my time. Thus, I would establish a one-man monastery.
My dad’s comment was, “That plan is okay, if you don’t mind creating a big hole in your life. What are you going to say when you apply for a job later and people ask what you were doing during those years?” As it turned out, I ended up with several such gaps in my resume anyway.
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Take out “woods,” replace with “cigarettes,” and you have .. an addict. B(
But in all seriousness, and I think Katie would agree (Katie, do you agree?) that giving yourself a punt into the unknown right now would.. well, at the very least be stimulating.
I always thought that if I chose to move, I would be haunted by what I was leaving behind. I would constantly ask myself, “Are you doing this for the wrong reasons? Because your habits and problems stay with you until you deal with them..” But man, I think that nagging question was just a ploy from the fear inside of me to try and keep me from doing what I felt was really right and good.
My theory is that the physical world and the spiritual world are inseparable, and by gum, if your spirit’s needing a new place, a new adventure, a reason to be forced by necessity to square your shoulders and grit your teeth (i.e. stabilizing yourself), sounds like a move might be right up your alley.
Aaaand I just got off work so I’m not proof-reading that..
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Rest secure in the knowledge that your cats will always love to be petted and that if they die, you can get more cats. What, is it not as meaningful because they’re from a different species?
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Oh it’s meaningful, but not as meaningful mostly because it’s the petting that they love, not ME.
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