We are such products of the people who raise us and the places they raise us in. I’m so thankful to have been bred a chameleon.
Part of me wants to stay, but more of me needs to go. Love letters are not written to places but to people. I don’t need place, but I do need people. You have to hold onto those you love. Really tightly if you’re going to leave them. Really tightly, in your heart, if you’ve lost them. Last week I told you I loved to protect others, but I’ve realized protection is biased.
Growth is elusive and vulnerable. I already know I’ll miss long rides on dad’s squeaky bike. I’ll miss dancing in a crowded club where I always feel beautiful. I’ll miss hot showers soaking in the sweet, grounded smell of my mycelium. I’ll miss my people. The book I’m reading says cultivating mycelium is, “A means of exercising agency and intention,” and that’s what I need right now. To focus on my hands and what I can achieve.
To go somewhere new, it’s something I’m very comfortable with. Perhaps too comfortable, but that’s who I am.
Smoke rose from the building two blocks down, and I just watched. On the roof, a little high, and powerless to do anything. I couldn’t even bring myself to dial 911. So I listened to Lorde and cried a little. Bystander. What a shitty feeling. Dangling my legs watching the real men fight the fire. I certainly want to fight. It’s a place I need to be comfortable.
If you’re not sure where you want to be, but you know aren’t where you want to be, where do you go? The world is beautiful and bigger than me. It’s certainly bigger than you. All day and night I wish. Sometimes I do. Sometimes it’s you. I love the city and I love leaving too.
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