This morning I did a scary thing and followed my heart back home to Mineral Point.
I took this picture of the crystal bedroom doorknob with the red painted plate before I closed it for the last time and concluded a half-time, 14-month-long stay on Madison's East Side.
When the slog is particularly taffy-like during the week, I'll still spend a night or two in this house, in another, smaller room.
But, pennies were flying and the pull of the home I share with my children in Mineral Point became great, as did the feeling that I have been scrambling too hard to find things that seem missing, instead of living with intention and focusing on things that aren't-- those old and new people and things that make me feel all I want to feel in life- loved, abundant, happy, alive and brave. By embracing them, I have a new feeling of hope and openness for all that is yet to come.
Even so, I hadn't felt the feeling of packing up a place and moving out of it for many years!
It made me feel bitter-sweetly excited but unsettled, hoping I'm doing the right thing-- and reminded me suddenly of all the other rooms I've lived in and left.
Before departing, I sat silent in the room, thanking the heavens for the gift of its shelter, for the learning moments with lovers and friends, for the pillows to bury my face in or simply snuggle with, for the proximity to a new neighborhood and its adventures, even for the feelings of fear and loneliness that helped me grow.
As I left, I wondered whether the energy of all that I felt in that room (and all the rooms), still stick there, like an extra layer of paint on the walls.
What stories were painted before me there? Did I hear echoes of them in my dreams? Will they miss me now that I'm gone?
