©2022 Michael Raven
In roughly 48 hours, I will be returning to my other home for the first time in about twenty years (I won’t include the layover at the airport about eighteen years ago). The trip feels like a pivot point for me, although I cannot put my finger on the why of that feeling. Standard offer applies: if you’re in the area when I am and want to mooch a coffee off of me, I would welcome the company for as long as it takes to drink a latté before I let you escape; however, I don’t expect anyone to lighten my wallet by taking me up on the offer. Still, it stands as it always does.
I only lived in Seattle a short while, and Minnesota is my first home, but I’ve been aching for quite some time to go back, an undefinable urge to return to the place I call my home away from home. I won’t repeat all of the various reasons for wanting to go back. There are other posts where I wax none-to-lyrical about such things.
I’ve been feeling a creeping sense that there is more than my already mentioned reasons for going back. Something is pulling me there and, at the risk of sounding like a bit of a flake, I sense that something life-changing is going to happen while I am there. I can’t say what, but my intuitive mind is screaming at the top of it’s lungs — not one of those terrified screams, but more of one of those “SQUEE!” kinds of screams and I sure as hell wish it would let me in on the secret.
And yet, I remain clueless.
There, lingering in the shadows of my psyche, is also a sense of impending loss of some kind. Again, I can’t wrap my head around what that might be, but there is a hint of wistful sadness about something that will soon be gone.
Yes, I realize admitting all of this doesn’t do much to move me away from being pegged “a flake”, and I honestly don’t much care. I’m tired of making sure I sound entirely sane all of the time. I don’t know that anyone ever is completely sane — another game I’m starting to get the urge to refuse to play as I grow older and nominally wiser. At least, that’s what they say your elders are: wiser. I’m not so certain, now that I’m slipping into the personal era of being “older”.
I told my therapist something along these lines and he did a really good job of not eyerolling and maintaining a stony face. But I think I saw the hints of “OMFG” in the creases on his face and a few eye-twitches.
But there is this energy, this vibe, I pick up as the time grows closer to my flight. Wake up wake up wake up, it seems to shout. But I am awake, I tell that shouting voice. The response I hear in my head is laughter. Roaring laughter. Or, at least I thought I was, I add. And then… That’s what you get for thinking…