I’ve had enough.
Enough of feeling trapped in a situation, enough of my fear to do anything about it, simply enough.
I’m taking the week off with my Orange Revolution and following the yellow brick road wherever it will take me. I’ve packed a sleeping bag, my laptop, my ukulele, a journal, a camera, some poetry books, and some clothes into the bed of my car. A getaway has been overdue. I’m headed somewhere north. Who knows where I’ll end up? The mystery thrills me to no end.
Yesterday was the last straw.
Every year, my family aspires to take a vacation somewhere. They “aspire” to because it hasn’t happened in full force for the last seven years. An idyllic long-distance trip out of the country haplessly devolved into a weekend trip out of state, then to a horribly passive-aggressive day trip to Vegas. First of all, Vegas for the holidays? Not exactly what I had in mind. Sin City doesn’t really channel the hallmark “chestnuts roasting over an open fire.” Although the “chest” and the “nuts” parts do take on other meanings. As if the two-hour buffet lines, unaffordable shopping, and pushy crowds aren’t enough to warrant an outburst, my parents somehow always find a reason between themselves to get into a fight. In public. During the holidays. In Vegas.
After two hours of futile mediation on my brother’s part, we decided that the next logical step was to simply go home. During the four-hour drive back, I decided that I was still going to have a vacation, despite the failure of this one. So here I am, typing away from the bed of my car, stealing WiFi from a local office building to chart my journey.
I have long separated any personal responsibility from my family’s situation, but it doesn’t make it any less traumatizing to witness. If I ever decide to immortalize this experience in a novel someday, I’ll get more in depth about the dysfunction within. For now, you get the abridged version.
A friend of mine once asked me how I could write so publicly about my demons. The truth is – writing has always helped me process my emotions. Sometimes, my music merges with my writing. Other times, my writing stands for itself. In regard to how I can be public about my life, my hope is that by being honest about myself, I’ll somehow be held accountable by those reading. Whether or not I ever speak openly to them about it. Also, by facing my own flaws, I’ll gain insight on how perfection doesn’t really exist.
I’ll be blogging along the way. Let’s hope this impromptu journey can also be a spiritual one. 2011 is right around the corner, and I’m itching for a change. I have to carve my own inner path to healing. It won’t be easy, but I have to do it.