On moving...(to Oregon)
I’m moving. Next Monday’s post will be tapped into existence from a new home base. Same time zone, new latitude. Central Oregon. I can’t tell you much more than that. There are no predictions. I’ve got enough gas and gumption to get there, but that’s about all I know. I can guess and look up into the tree branches, but that’s not going to get me any closer whatever fruit is up there.
People keep asking me, “How are you feeling? Are you scared?” That’s a big one. Are you scared? No. I’m scared of bears and avalanches. But only when they’re racing at me with their teeth exposed. Otherwise, they don’t make my heart beat any faster. Scared — that’s not how I’d describe it.
Curious. And eager at this point. I’m tired of all the questions. So many questions that I can’t answer. From the outside and internally. What if this? What if that? Just put me in the bear pin and watch what happens. That’s the only way you’re going to find out. That’s the only way I’m going to find out what happens.
It’s not scary. If moving is scary, so is writing. Closing the bedroom door and noticing the keyboard staring over at me. Sitting down behind a blank screen and being taunted by a blinking curser. Mostly, I don’t know what’s going to come out. If I guessed and explained it to you, it would only be a disappointment. I’d exaggerate it. Or I’d tell it all wrong. The only way to know for certain would be to write it out.
There’s resistance. There’s the uncertainty, insecurity, and discomfort of not knowing. Then there’s the agony of trying too hard. Banging my head against the keyboard. Slamming line after line down. Breaking the backspace key from overuse. Trying and retrying. Eventually, if i’m lucky or patient enough, it’s not a fight anymore. The blank page and my fingers get past their differences — an alliance is formed. There’s a freedom in that.
That state never comes before the writing. It only appears during.
That’s how I look at moving. Anything before the move is a wrestling match. Biting and spitting and eye gouging, all legal. There’s no telling how the process is going, until the process is going. To pretend to know is foolish. There’s always a tendency to picture things too perfect or too flawed. There’s a big difference between planning and predicting. Predicting doesn’t affect the outcome. So why should I bother?
No. I’m not scared. I’m uncomfortable. That’s not a bad thing. It’s something I’m learning to enjoy. It’s something I’m learning to embrace. There’s uneasiness about new jobs and new address to remember. Plenty of new people to meet and the ongoing struggle to express myself honestly, without censorship or exaggeration. That shouldn’t be difficult task, but there’s an added pressure when you’re the new guy. People want to know everything at once. They’re impatient and I’m not good with summarizing myself. It makes for a tricky situation.
It’s more complex than scared or not scared. Those types of feelings are fleeting. I try to tell myself that it will depend on my mindset. I don’t know if I believe that either. I’ve tried the mindset strategy with writing. Some days, I sit behind a notebook feeling like Johnny Journalism — and I get annihilated. I write a big, stinking shit pile. I don’t even realize it’s shit until I muddle through it, getting it all over the desk and the pen and the pages. Mindset doesn't assure anything. The work still has to be done. The move has to be made. The bear has to smile. Then I’ll tell you whether I’m afraid or not.
“You don’t move away from something. You move toward something.” (quote by Angus and Lachlan Morton’s Dad, I think. Bicycle magazine?)
