Starting Over

The Open Door

A thousand journeys come together only to be splintered, divided according to geographic location and estimated time of departure. A symphony clicks staccato on reflective marble floor. Flip flops create a bass line to a stiletto heel’s disconnected beat. Tiny voices of crying children become distant background soloists to the deafening sound of ferry arrivals, disembarking vehicles, and the foul language of people made to sit in line far too early in the morning.

“Tell me that all this is going to be okay,” I asked him knowing that despite his promise our lives would never be the same again.

“I love you so much,” he cried in my shoulder as I held him one last time. “I just need this time to figure a few things out. We both need this time to figure ourselves out.”

“Just one year?”

“Trust me; I’ll want you home in time to launch the boat this spring.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

There are some things in life that you just cannot change. It seems to me that although we may not understand it—karma, fate, and choice all work together to create the grand illusion of living. A splinter caused by his step to the right and my turn to the left is the epicenter of my heartbreak. I refuse to look back for fear that I might change my mind and that his opinion will remain the same. Things happen the way they happen from a force that is beyond comprehension.

As my truck wheels down the ramp, my spirit slides somewhere between the grayness of Juneau and the shadows of an unseen destination. Sunlight becomes fluorescent as cars, trucks, and RV’s are herded into appropriate formation. It is easy to go through the motions of functioning as long as emotions are controllable. Parking the truck was easy, watching the familiar fade in the span of a parking lot—not so much.

Through plexi glass surrealism memories are cataloged by halibut hotspots, camping coves, and seal lion lined buoys. I am too numb to cry. When the scenery becomes unfamiliar it all becomes passing water. As I focus on the forward, threads of a plan weave together to create a blanket of confusion, covering the fear of second guessing and a chill of feeling completely alone.

Tired eyes search for the next destination through buoy markers, fishing boats, and excited tourists. It has only taken two hours to cross over from one life to another. By the time I reach Haines, it is only nine in the morning. Yet in that one crossing, I lived a lifetime and let go of another world.

Transcendence

Some journeys in life are more difficult to begin than others. Sad as we contemplate all that is left behind yet anxious to start the process of enlightenment. It is when we leave the familiar shores of the recognizable that we truly understand the significance of traveling. Life speeds by at such a rapid pace that we know if we put our feet upon pavement, to try to slow down for just one moment, the souls will rip from our shoes.

Destinies cannot be hindered by dragging hearts and concrete feet; things will always happen the way they happen, no matter how much prevention is mixed in. Still;there is always the sinking sensation that we might have missed a clue or perhaps gotten on the wrong ride all together. Tire and time intermesh into a rhythm that matches the pounding in my head. It has only been two hundred miles. “What if’s” stretch every miles to three times its length with the burdens of regret and the grief of loss.

Change can be felt. No matter how much we try to ignore the symptoms all energy possesses transformation and movement. Time is no different.

“You really think that is going to work, you two being in a separate towns plus dating other people.” Tonya asked.

“Yeah, don’t think we haven’t discussed all the possible ways that this could totally backfire in our faces. But see, if I don’t give him this time to do whatever it is that he needs to do—eventually he’s going to end up resenting me. And to tell the truth, I don’t want to live in Juneau anymore. Too small, no opportunity, too much fucking rain.”

“Yeah, I see your point. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“A year or two. Tim’s talking six months, but I’m thinking there’s no way I’m going to be able to switch jobs after only six months. Right there tells me that he doesn’t think my career is as important as his. I told him that I wasn’t coming home until he was ready to make a lifetime commitment—I am too old to be playing these games.”

“I figure one of three things will happen. He’ll break up with me, I won’t want to come back to Juneau and that’ll end everything, or we’ll live happily ever after. If I had to bet, I’d place money on one of the first two. Mrs C. said that her first husband told her that he needed time to find himself.”

“What did she say?

“She said he’s still looking.”

Over the dips and curves of Yukon Territory, I replay the same country song telling me that life ain’t always beautiful. But it’s a beautiful ride. Motivation fuels determination as I begin to see the wonderment of this ride. Loss becomes a secondary emotion as the possibilities of everything new take over. My grandmother used to tell me we all end up where we need to be—that is if we have the patience to climb the mountain. I have reached my mountain.

“No matter what happens, promise that we will always look beyond the superficial and remember the substance of what we have.”

“How could I ever forget?”

Realization

There is a certainty that forms when a person is on the right path. This certainty supersedes everything else. Despite all that is left behind, the feeling that the one step that began the journey connects to the road that will lead to everything else. Leaving the familiar while simultaneously speeding to the unknown creates an euphoria akin to a runners high—it feels good while we’re doing it—as long as we don’t think about what we’re actually doing. I hope I have aimed my Mazda in the right direction.

Flourishing green trades positions with a spectrum of red, yellow, and shades of emerald from low bush blueberries, aging foliage, and spider-webbed bear trails. Patches of fireweed burst purple in full bloom where meadow meets mountain. Every angle produces a different shade of sunlight as the sun begins to tuck between mountain ridges. What was once lilac becomes soft pink, across the road light begins to reflect gold to grey as clouds roll from the east.

There are stretches of highway where I am the only traveler, and there are some stretches where I feel totally alone. Moving forward but still feeling the slip of unsure footing. Doubt and confidence take turns controlling a kaleidoscope of revelations.

John Mellencamp croons in high definition that my life is the right here and now, every minute unwritten until it happens, every second filled with a endless possibility while at the same time reminding me that life passes by—almost as rapidly as the last three hundred miles.

In retrospect, perhaps the transition is more painful than the journey. To understand what needs to be done, but not having the courage to find the words to express your choices, then finding the bravery at the expense of those who love us the most. A feeling that begins as a small whisper of emotion builds to a screaming realization that things—life—need to change.

Unfortunately, life is not a ride that we are able to climb on and off at will. Instead, it sweeps and storms and rocks and curves the unsuspecting passenger at the least opportune time. It is sometimes easier just to hold on, hold together than it is trying to figure out the direction of one’s journey. Life reforms through death, through loss, and through new experiences. It is faith that carries faith that we have aimed our sights on the right path as well as the strength to step into fear and come through to the other side of ourselves. The transition is not realized.

A brown bear crosses road in mid-thought. We both stop on the side of the road to stare at the other. Separated only by thin layer of vehicle, I choose to keep the engine running—just in case of the unexpected. I giggle at the paradox of seeing porcupine, fox, deer, and bear in creases and across asphalt corners—knowing had I had a camera our paths would have never crossed.

Landscape falls behind and miles stretch ahead, radio up as loud as possible to avoid listening to my own thoughts. In harmonic oblivion, I feel the snapping as bonds are broken. Fragments of another life quickly torn from skin, leaving nerve and emotion raw. Understanding at the same time that life is parallel with overlapping paths—each opposing yet coinciding—with the idea that nothing lasts forever.

Sadly, the search for change always begins in the superficial rather than the substance. Everything is disposable if it doesn’t fit our personal purposes and ideals of what is supposed to be. Influenced by a society that preaches replace-ability, instead of trying to grow together people grow apart. We are all as disposable as yesterdays Burger King wrapper. Individuality is searched for in a field of possibilities, and we see them all—except the one right in front of us.

In the end, all we really have to rely on is ourselves.

Revelation

There are landmarks in every journey that signify a traveler has reached their destination. My landmark is the Chugach mountain range. The mountains are both a place of solitude and constant wonder. Like sphinx guarding the gates of Eden, the mountains are the first welcome for their lost children before entering the city.

These mountains are as familiar as a front porch, yet as mysterious as a family secret. While hiking in the lush folds the fortunate are graced with the presence of grazing moose, passing fox, and sometimes even a curious ground squirrel coexisting in a synchronization that the human world may never understand.

No hike is ever the same. All one really has to do to solve most dilemmas is understand the insight of the mountains themselves, to look at the landscape and to truly understand the force and beauty of change. The perception can be overwhelming, the idea elusive in the fact that when we fail to look beyond personal limitations—change becomes stagnant. On the mountain, the only margins are self-imposed. Automatically, I try to calculate if I am too late to gather blueberries and crowberries. Mostly, I try to calculate how many days it will take me to go on a hike in order to gather myself.

There is an energy that happens when you know you are in the right place. It feels somewhere between a mental notion and a body electrification. Swept up in the rushing tide of BMWs, rusted out beaters, 4x4 trucks, and cyclist on sidewalks, there is no doubt that have reached my destination. Serenity seeps into my soul like rainwater on traveled tundra.

A Welcome to Anchorage sign is the first concrete marker that indicates that I have reached my destination. Food chain meets rat race within the space of an eight-lane highway. Both ruled by Darwin’s theory of natural selection. The division of classes as apparent as the division of species each segregated by their inhabitance of landscape and tax bracket.

As I pass landmarks, streetlights, and favorite hangout spots I begin to feel as if I can breathe again. Although surrounded by a thousand strangers there is still room to breathe—every place is your space, every corner a reminiscence

In the back of my mind, I hear a whisper that the time to begin is now. As I see my best friend’s truck in the distance, I begin to feel the turning of another page and the beginning of new chapter. Excitement surges at the possibility of new adventures, unlearned knowledge, and the relief of being home.

“How ya doing?”

“Oh, not too bad. I’d call it somewhere between a train wreck and a natural disaster. However, the drive from Juneau was absolutely beautiful. Oddly enough, the further I got away from Juneau the sunnier it got. To tell the truth this is the warmest I’ve been in a long time”

“Oh, you’re just warm because you’re basking in the glow of my hotness.”

“Whatever”

“Got you to smile didn’t it. Girl do not stress. You’re back in Anchorage; you have all the family here. You’ve got the job you’ve ALWAYS wanted.”

“Yeah, I know but it still doesn’t make it any easier.”

“You really think this is the beginning of the end for you two?”

“Yeah, it’s just a matter of time I suppose.”

I have heard that people who do the most changing think that they haven’t changed at all. Ignorance is a blissful union of disconnection of self and lack of self-realization. Darwin once said that survival was not dependant on the being the strongest, nor was survival dependant on intelligence.

“Since you’ve been gone, I realized a lot of things about myself and our relationship,” he said.

“Like what?” I asked bracing myself for heartbreak that was about to happen.

“I’ve just come to the realization that I’ve always known that something has always been missing with us. I’ve never had that feeling that you were “the one.”

“A month ago we were completely in love with each other. You promised this was going to be okay,” I replied trying to remain calm but failing horribly.

“Things change.”

“Okay, so what you’re saying is that we lived together for three years and in the span on sixty days—things change—just like that.”

“I guess I am. It is my decision. It’s made. I really don’t want to get into this with you. There’s a letter in the mail explaining everything.”

“You sent me a breakup letter in my birthday card?”

“Sure, if you want to see it that way,” he replied as he hung up the phone leaving nothing but anger and silence in his wake.

Survival, Darwin said, was based on a being’s adaptation to change.