“I’ve never felt like giving up before.”
A text my mom received in the middle of my break down 2 weeks ago. What was the breakdown over? Burnt chicken. Burnt chicken from a crockpot mind you. I consider myself a decent cook, and I burnt chicken in a crockpot. WHO DOES THIS? It’s a crock pot after all, it’s supposed to be full proof. You put the ingredients in, set the timer and within 2 to 12 hours depending on the recipe you have a finished meal. Easy. The easiest thing for busy moms or busy 34-year-old single females. Or fuck busy whoever. I am sure there are men out there who use them as well. Anyone out there busy AF, living on a budget, and cooking at home. That’s me. That’s who I identify with. Everyone assumes I love cooking because I do it all the time. I love eating. I love eating good food, and I’m too poor to eat out on any kind of basis outside of special events. Thus, I cook. I cook weekly. Hence why a simple Teriyaki chicken recipe shouldn’t stump me. But two Thursdays ago.
When I typed out the text, I knew the connotation it held. I knew how it sounded. I knew how it came cross. My mother calmly responded:
“I don’t know what you mean by give up.”
My mother has two daughters who both have battled with depression. While I’m the less severe of the two, ie never medicated or clinically diagnosed, my mother knows the real fear of having a child who’s actions are threatening their life. I knew with sending the text my mother fear would spike. If I told you the text had nothing to do with receiving some form of attention from my mother, it would be a lie. However, I did quickly change the tone of the conversation.
“Just giving up on Key West. Maybe stop trying to figure out whatever I’m doing, move home, and find a job that’s good enough, that pays the bills like Luke (my brother) always tells me to do. Life like everyone else…working at a job they can deal with and living for the weekend, their annual vacay. That’s giving up to me. I could do that, and life would be easier.”
Settle for an easier life, not a life lived.
To me that’s the ultimate sacrifice. Seeing people in my hometown follow in the exact same foot steps as their parents. Living a decent life, heck maybe even a better life than their parents, but simply living a life similar to their parents. Always felt like giving up to me. Growing up in my small town, I was certain about much until I had to start making decisions based off the goals of others, but the one thing I always knew in my soul I wasn't stay in my small town. Maybe this is why I never quite felt like I fit there. Why I always knew in my heart I was a little different. I was judged for being different the entire time I stayed in that town. Maybe that’s why I judged them so harshly for so long for staying. Now I realize, there are many paths in this life. Staying in a small town is not mine. Leaving a small town is not theirs. The world needs both types of people.
Yet just as the 34 year-old Momma of 3 will tell you her life wouldn’t be complete without being in her home town, having a family. To me nothing has ever felt more imprisoning than staying in one place for too long. Yes, it’s made my life harder. Inevitability there is less security in the nomadic life. As humans, we are wired to settle down. Have a little grounding in our lives.
My life seems to flow between these two state. I yearn for adventure, for change. Then before I know it, I wish I had roots somewhere. Somewhere to go when the trail gets a little weary. I crave a little routine in my life. Thus, I find a new place to live. Then within 9-12 months, the call of adventure starts all over again. And I’m torn between listening or fighting the urge to run. It feels like running a lot of the time is due to various reasons I have found to dislike the routine life.
I could very easily move home and live my life this way. Settle down. Find a job that paid well, where I didn’t worry about making ends meet. Maybe even find a nice guy who also thought East Tennessee was a little too small and craved the adventure on annual vacations. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard. I'd imagine this would easily achieved in a 5-year plan.
Yet here’s the thing, always in the back of my mind I would know, I gave up. I settled for a life a little less lived than the one I had in my dreams. I would always feel like I a round peg trying to fit in that square hole. Because in the back of my mind, I would know my life could’ve been so much grander. I know I have the grit to live the life that scares others. That is a pipe dream for others because security is too sweet a mistress. There is a part of my soul that simply knows what I’m capable of.
Just as the little girl who’s life isn’t complete until she is a Mom. There is a whisper deep inside of me that wouldn’t be fulfilled until I’ve explored. Until I’ve lived a life on my own terms without the goals of others in mind. It’s strange. I know. I feel strange saying it. I feel different. Yet I know there are others already living this life. I’ve spoken with friends who share the same heart as mine. We are out there, the four winds have scattered us. But we are out there. We are just a little harder to find.
“Hate to hear you giving up, but you know you can always come home.”
Mom’s response to my text on leaving Key West. Maybe the notion that home will always be waiting for me is enough security for this little nomadic heart to hold. After all, the beauty of this life is being able to call more than one place home after all. I’m home here in Key West. I’m home in East Tennessee. I’m home in a little town right outside of Cape Cod. I’m home within myself. My home’s a feeling. Maybe one day it’ll have an address.
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