For being in an Evacuation Warning zone, I’m very relaxed. This is illustrated best by my outfit: cut off sweatpants that have no elastic left. They’re “kept in place” (a loose term for a loose situation) by rolling the waist band. I’ve pared it with an old t-shirt that says, “NASA – I need my space.” That’s basically it. I haven’t even considered the footwear I’ll don if I’m ordered to leave. Heels? Crocs? Cowboy boots?
The past few days I have relocated some of my valuables. My brother is storing my banjo, Braxton’s paw print, and old photo albums that if my 15-year-old niece decides to look through, may confuse her. Nothing like having a literal fire lit under your ass to aid in the moving process. The fire still has a dozen or so miles to go before it becomes an imminent threat to my neighborhood, however no mortgage company wants to loan a buyer money for a house that’s within reach of a 100,000-acre wildfire with minimal containment. So here we are, five days after we were supposed to close, final papers still unsigned.
Remember weeks ago, when I was lamenting about change, about how much I did not want to sell and leave this place? How much I love this home? Now I just want out. Yes, I still love it, but I’m ready for the next chapter. Being held in limbo, a holding pattern of uncertainty, is one of the hardest things for me to deal with because it makes it next to impossible to plan. It feels like I’m working so hard, putting in such effort and getting nowhere. And yet, a month ago I actually wrote in my journal, “part of me hopes this sale will fall through.”
It just goes to show how fleeting emotions are, yet I still sometimes allow them to drive my thoughts. And you know those two, like wind and flames. They build each other up, and left unchecked can wreak havoc. I’m trying to get better control, to be able to build better containment lines when they inevitably flare up. Sometimes it’s easy, and sometimes I have to seek help from other resources. That can be a sleepless thankless task, just ask Chad.
All metaphors aside, I’m incredibly fortunate to have a house. This fire has consumed over 600 structures already and I doubt it’s done yet. Coworkers have lost homes, and I keep getting calls at work from people wanting to return to the mandatory evacuation zones to see if their place is still standing.
To be able to leave on my terms is the best-case scenario. And it’s good to finally feel ready to rip off the band-aid and get the fuck out.
My hope is that we leave as planned, by selling the house. Not by having to flee at 2:00am with the clothes on our backs as flames lick our heels, like many had to do a week ago.
Regardless of what happens though, we are committed to the adventure. We are hanging on to the dream, and in 5 months these blog posts will be written somewhere far from here. Far away from all the chaos and smoke of our current situation. The dream still seems so far away though, so unattainable. One day at a time, we’ll get there. A day at a time. And through it all I’m trying not to burn out. Trying to stay present and not get so tangled up in emotions – or things not going as planned – that it clouds my judgement or direction. I know where we’re headed, and that no matter how many times we have to take a detour, we’ll get there.
Still, from what feels like an uncomfortable spot wedged in someone’s backseat I can’t help but ask, “Are we there yet?”
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 