Life? Life is weird.
When I started this blog, I was reasonably happy at my little hobby farm, milking goats and finding where the chickens had hidden their nests and stomping around the creek. I didn't imagine ever doing anything different. But then I opened this publishing house that started to gain a little bit of traction, and the man I was married to said that he couldn't work on our issues while he was working 70 hours a week. So this idea, this tiny insane seed of an idea took root in my mind and germinated at a speed that would probably seem insane to someone else but is about on par for me. Before I knew it we were taking our animals to auction and getting rid of our house and buying, of all things a tent.
So I became a professional gypsy. I've spent time schilling in Key West, living in the backyard of a professional hippie pirate and sharing space with his 7 foot python, Jake. Holding down my tent with both hands to keep it from blowing away. Riding to the top of the arch in St. Louis. Hanging out with a Voodoo priest in New Orleans. In my travels I have meet some of the best people I've ever known, and discovered a strength in myself that I never knew existed. And it was amazing and I was deliriously happy with most parts of it and I couldn't imagine doing anything different.
But life is weird. What started as a vague unhappiness became a soul-crushing weight. A constant heartpunch (which is kinda like a gutpunch but more unpleasant). So I looked at the man who had promised me forever. Who once brought me more joy, more feeling of completion than I had ever thought possible. With whom I had born kids, adopted kids, buried kids. And I told him that, one way or another the pain had to stop. Had to. It didn't. So I said it again. He picked the way. And I found myself buying a house sight-unseen and finding ways to keep income incoming and sorting through all of our stuff by myself on the floor so I could pack his away until he has a place and/or need for it.
Which brings me to now. Now I am balancing gypsy life with stability, or trying to anyway. I am healing from the past, which mixes a bit too much with the present at times, and even while I grieve that I am so, so excited about the future. So grateful for the things I've learned. Like, that there are those who see me, really see me, even when everything is so convoluted that I can't see myself. That there are those who want to help, but you have to be willing to actually admit that something is wrong. And I'm able to come back to my kids and be the mom I've always wanted to be, if not in the fashion I wanted to be it, because I'm not always tired and hurt and angry anymore. My heart breaks for them, I regret the pain that I've caused, the one pain I swore I would never inflict on them and I'm so so sorry that it had to be this way, but I'm watching them grow and thrive and taking heart in the fact that this is what is best for them. A dear friend and amazing author told me that she knew that "I would never have done this unless not doing it would be worse," and I cannot agree with her more. But I'm watching them become even more amazing through all of this, and that brings me a bit of peace. Somewhere along the line I started to think that maybe I have things to say that people might like to read. So I'm back.
I'm back. I'm finding my way back to myself and picking my way forward. I've bought this giant, old diamond-in-the-rough of a house, and I'm going to try my best to find some balance. Feed the homebody in all of us. Feed the gypsy in all of us. I imagine that you will get to hear a lot about momming, and publishing, and writing, and travelling. I imagine that I'll make jokes that only few will get or try for witty and fall short. I imagine sometimes I'll write things I probably shouldn't, give glimpses into life that maybe should stay blinded. I imagine sometimes I'll disappear for longer than I should. I imagine all of those things, and more. But I've given up on not imagining.
Because life? Life is weird.