(Cheryl Strayed, Wild).
I left South Carolina almost exactly a year ago on October 1, 2015, and in a weird, symbolic, cyclical nature, I'm leaving San Francisco 364 days later, to swap my daily ride on the 21 to the FiDi and morning runs through the Panhandle and Golden Gate Park for a commute from bedroom to desk and morning trots (or ski runs) through the Sierras.
I can talk about logistics, and logistics are ever-present, but they're the functional knots that tie the story together. I sometimes I think that's how I have always managed to get through life - logistics are concrete and something I can focus on and control when my mind is uncontrollable, and right now, they're what are keeping me trudging forward and avoiding completely collapsing into a pile on the floor every single time I unearth some hidden piece of the past (...it's only happened once instead of 20 times). That strategy's not foolproof though. This week, focusing on logistics only has only gone so far from distracting from things like the odd sock that slipped its way to the bottom of the bin, or Effie's dog tag cruelly attached to my engagement ring, or the box of unopened Christmas crackers with the casual note left taped to the front. During these moments the distraction fails, and reality crashes in.
I left South Carolina that October morning with cautious optimism that fleeing Charleston - which I loved - was a necessity for my life. I say cautious because it was already fraught and tension-filled, where despite me knowing - just knowing - that it was something I had to do, that same motivation wasn't shared. But I was, as always, hopeful - hopeful that new places and new scenery and new opportunities would be a fresh start and a beginning on the same page, and that that was what was lacking in everything so far. Part of me wants to say I didn't know it could go so not like that. Part of me knows that deep down, I was in denial that I knew exactly how it was going go... because again, logistics can only shelter you from so much. You can plan. You can come up with a picture in your head of how things should be. You can try to control it and do everything you can to make it right... but that only goes so far.
I wasn't ready for this year. I wasn't ready for the pain and heartbreak or the deep sadness, the confusion or self-loathing. I didn't know how to handle being screamed at. I didn't know how to handle legal things. I didn't know what to do with debt. I didn't know how to handle the total invasion of privacy and my inner thoughts. I didn't know how to handle being lost. I didn't know when to pretend things were normal or when to let on. I didn't know how to summarize. I didn't know how to say goodbye. I didn't know how to let go of not having any iota of control over my own life. With everyday an unknown, the easiest thing to do was just to do. To move. To plan. To distract. To disengage. To find things to focus on that I was ready for and did know. But again, all of that can only shelter you from so much. At the end of the day, the random things you don't expect hit you with the unflinching truth. You can put one foot in front of the other and keep trudging forward, but you're still slogging through shit.
I don't know what's coming, but I do know that for all of the bad throughout this year, there has been a lot of good mixed in, and that someday, somehow, this will all have had some greater purpose in my life. Every low, every high, every tear, every unbridled giggle - there was some reason. That unknown is terrifying, but I'll handle it. I'll fall back on logistics and let the emotion come through, and life will carry on. I'll keep getting through, knowing that despite not knowing or being ready for every possible scenario, I can do this.
This year kicked my butt. But I'm kicking it back.