This is my first blog post in seven years. Seven has always been a lucky number. I guess snakes shed their skins, entirely rejuvenated, every seven years. Seven years itch, too, right? Splintered and glowing, seven years have flown right by me.
A little more than seven years ago, I moved to LA. When reading my last post, I see that I wasn't having the easiest go of it. I seemed a little bit more than lost, though the constants continued to find me.
I only browsed the surface in reading back. It's all there, stream of conscious ramblings, and there it will stay. It's my story and it's stuck to me. I'm happy to have found it, actually stumbling on to it this morning, surprised the words ever existed in the first place. And now, relinking to that past as I keep moving forward... reawakening the beast, it's innocence, sleeping peacefully all these years in it's bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed-just-moved-to-LA-following-a-dream-kind-of-way- is remarkably sweet and lovely to me now. And part of me thinks- awww, how cute. So much I didn't know. And so much I had to learn.
And back to gratitude.
Seven years later, and I think I've gotten exactly what I've needed through my time here. I'm grateful for every drop of it, because every unanswered phone call, or attempt at connection, let me to find a different connection, and follow every single path that propelled me through the pink-pong pinball-bumpers, bounced left and right to figure out the direction I'd be forced to take, to turn, and to evolve.
So here I sit, 7 in the morning because sleep is taken in doses, like medicine, resigning to it when I need it and pushing it away when my brain discovers a long-ignored blog. Here I sit, 7 in the morning, ready to take on another chapter, my new skin ready to crawl with goosebumps inspired by the next steps, whatever they are and wherever they take me. Here I sit at 7 am, loving the fact that when you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose. I've given LA everything I had. I'm grateful for my lessons, my friendships, my soul being found, finding myself among the angels- literally translated los angeles- and that's what I have gotten in exchange for pursuing my dream of moving here.
I've been given so much more than I bargained for. All I wanted to do, I've done. What I didn't have the foggiest notion I wanted to do when I got here, I've done.
I've done. And now it feels like time to go home.
I am open to the tide turning me back to my roots, following a yellow brick road back through the woods, across mountains and stretches of desert and nothing and ocean and past the gradual evolution to the most beautiful majestic oldest trees.
Gonna try to drive back to Oreogn- to make it there for the holidays, to spend Thursday around the table with the people I love most in this world.
I can't wait to get there.
I've been to Oz, I've met wizards and lions and tigers and bears, and tin-men, and scared crows, and witches- good and bad ones- and the tallest munchkins and the shortest giants. The man behind the curtain continues to astonish me, and the words in my heart will carry me through space and time til Thursday and beyond and beyond and beyond again. Infinite Thursdays through this one. Life in a day, in a moment, in a nanosecond. Life. Every breath holds the opportunity for such overwhelming beauty. My vision of that is sitting around a table surrounding by my sweetest family who I love more than anything. I can not wait to get there.
I've said it before, I'll say it again, and every time, it's more true than the last.
There's no place like home.
There. I did it. I felt like writing, so I did.
