Just over an hour ago, I woke up on the floor of an empty apartment. It's the last day of the lease, and I'm here to make certain the place is all cleaned up and cleaned out. Sleeping here again brings back fresh memories of why I had to get out so desperately, but it will be okay--fourteen hours from now, at midnight, the lease will be over and I'll be at Industry Bar drinking bourbon and, if they let me, smoking a cigar. And that should be the end of this mess.
When I was in college, I got intensely depressed. As in, I only got eight hours of sleep a week and started going to the therapy sessions provided by the school. Getting away from there, physically, was the only thing I could think of that lifted me out of the bleakness. I remember going to visit my oldest friend in Louisiana, and with every tick of the odometer on the seven hour drive, I felt myself able to breathe a little easier.
It was about that time a rather romantic notion came into my head--an idea for a fresh start. When I was a kid, about nine if I remember correctly, I saw a story in a magazine called "The Walk West". It was about a man named Peter Jenkins, who (for whatever reason) crossed the country on foot from the northeast all the way out to California. The trip took years as he'd settle down for a bit here and there, get a job, recuperate, and move on again. This remains one of the most inspiring stories I've ever heard.
When I was in my depression in college, I adapted Jenkins' story to what I would do for myself to get away. First, I would sell everything I own. I'd keep a few clothes, obviously, and a few personal keepsakes, but I'd get rid of the rest. My truck, my furniture, my books, movies, toys, games, all of it gone. The revenue would get me out of debt and earn me some extra cash besides, which I would use to make a walk north--to Chicago, a city I've seen a few times and love most dearly, the place I first wanted to end up when I left college.
The walk itself would probably take months, during which time I'd change myself. I'd see and learn more about the world around me. I'd experience places and people, hear their stories. I'd certainly drop the pounds I was looking to shed then, too (this has kinda been a life-long battle for me). But most important, the time it would take me to get there would really allow me to feel the physcal distance, the separation from the place I lived when I got so screwed up inside. When I got there, as cleaned out in the head and the body as possible, then I'd start over with my life. I'm a little sad I never did that.
Now's my chance to modify that plan to today's situation. I'm getting rid of everything I own. No more furniture. No more books, movies, or pieces of art for my wall. No more truck. I'm selling every stitch of it if I don't just give it away, and the sentimental stuff to keep will fit into a single box over which my loving parents will hopefully keep a watchful eye. Then, instead of walking to another city, I'll be flying to another country. Another culture. Another language. A place where I'll spend years enveloped in study. I'll have the chance not simply to get away, but to BE away from the place I lived when I made so many bad choices, so many mistakes. The place where I so very often chose stagnation over adaptation.
Dallas has treated me well, and it gave me everything I wanted. But I became complacent here, too. Too often have I watched the deadlines for my dreams slip by without taking action. Too often have I complained about this happening.
It's time to grow up.
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