Every time I go to Beavers Bend - or really any place where there is more nature than not, more trees than buildings, more sky than telephone lines...where you can see the stars - i question my city-girlness. A couple years ago, I noticed the sanity-saving - no, lifesaving - transformation that happens when I step out of the all-too-hectic insanity of my life for even just a couple of days and walk around with trees and birds and deer and sky and sun.
Who in the hell told me that I'm a city girl? That I would only be happy in a high-rise in Manhattan? That I would be lost and bored and unchallenged out in the country? The moment I hit the open road, a woman I am just now getting to know rears up and fills up my skin, pushing out that schedule-driven, chaos addicted woman whose costume I normally wear.
I like this other woman, I think. She is calm and confident and serene... though the edge is still there - the urge to keep moving, the insatiable wanderlust. There is something about her I want to sink in to, give in to. She seems unafraid somehow.
The truth is that she's probably there all the time. And maybe if I spent every waking moment in the mountains, she would come out on my ventures to the city.
It's that "anywhere but here" mantra that has been with me for as long as I can remember... that I can't seem to shake. That I think has something to do with letting myself stay stuck. Doing all the things that make outside appearances acceptable and keep the wheels turning, but squashing, hindering, hiding, squelching the deep, deep urges to create, to act... to live like today really might be the last one.
I want to stop having an illicit affair with this other woman, I want to scream from the rooftops, "Hey, look! This is the one I want. This is the one I love! This is the one I want to be!"
If I could just get over the fear of the unknown, then maybe.
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