a little this, some of that
Yesterday afternoon, Sunday, I was driving in search of a motel with a proposal for long-term stay at reduced rate (didn’t happen) when the Kate Bush song “Running Up That Hill” came on 91 X, my favorite San Diego radio station which comes in clearly about 75% of the time and is actually broadcast from Tijuana. Her song – long ago I owned the LP where it can be found – felt exactly appropriate for me, yesterday, here now in Encinitas, here in October. Running up that hill. I’m in need of a new place to live, a safer and healthier space in which to land, and my Craigslist account is broken and won’t let me make posts for needing a room in the communities I’d like to find one; the internet here in this room works on a whimsical basis, maybe 50% of the time – way less than 91 X clarity; there are really no people here with whom I’m close, not really, who are looking out for me the way so many of you and so many others have and did right after the divorce and its fall-out time back there in mid-April. Running up a hill.
Saturday I drove to Ocean Beach, a spiritual place for me many years now, to look for a place to live – posting up my need on a ‘meeting’ bulletin board; walking up and down streets looking for “room for rent” signs in windows; stopping strangers on the street and asking if they knew of any. I also managed to get into the water with my boogie board and for the first time ever away from the main beach by the pier, all the way over to Dog Beach. There, much to my amazement and it turns out joy, I discovered this nearly never-ending sandbar straight out from the shore, and it caused big waves breaking far out beyond my poor-swimming comfort level to gather up water and re-form in closer. I had my best day yet boarding, and I was able to look from side to side on my rides and see that I was traveling nearly at the speed of light, like my seven and eight and nine-year old boogie peers – my now sacred, giggling cadre. Amidst all the unknowns and fears these days, it was pure bliss. Oh, Keto-busting delight at Hodad’s too.
I’ve been feeling like only one person in my life truly “gets it”, the “it” being clear about my life situation today, even though I’ve been talking about it here in the Blog and out there in the world for weeks now. That’s my long-time pal and best friend and old boss and ongoing mentor Gavin in Oakland. Lately I’ve had long telephone talks with Kate and Joyce up there in greater Portland, Oregon, and they’ve listened and they get it too. The “it” being the “groundlessness” in my life right here today, early this Monday morning. So, I’ll share the facts one more time, and not with any “poor me” or “why me” or any of that. I’m on my path, the one the Great Spirit wants me on, and I’m unendingly grateful to still be here to be on it, and so interested for what comes next. And, yes, just a little scared.
My move-out date is October 22, a Friday. Gotta be out by then. I will begin packing my things here in my room October 9, next Saturday. I’m going to begin, in earnest and with absolutely no shame, October 13, a Wednesday, asking people I’ve come to know a little down here if I can crash on their couch a while. Because I have nowhere to go. My plan is to actually be moved out of here by Sunday the 17th, waking up close enough the next day where I can get to my amazingly wonderful “job” working with the San Marcos kids the 18th and 19th.
After that, I haven’t got a clue.
Also, I predict this week’s posts here at “Couch Surfing” will be short and sweet. It’s a time thing. And, my long-time readers, the plan is for these Monday-through-Friday daily posts to come to an end the 22nd of this month. That has long been my plan, I’ll explain why another day. Now it’s somewhat ironically become the “notice” day for me as well.
Those don’t-drink-one-day-at-a-time folks have a line in one of their books which says this – “We stood at the turning point.”