Home, but not

I’m home. “Home,” in quotes, is more appropriate. I’m currently spending my days at our family cabin in northern Minnesota. Not home in the classic sense of the word. Not my permanent residence, but the closest thing I’ve had to home during this crazy, incredible, nomadic life I’ve been living over these past two and a half years. I arrived back to Minnesota two weeks ago, finally marking the end of my summer-long travel adventures that began with my bike ride across Germany in June and ended with two weeks in the September Spanish sun. Prior to touching down in Minneapolis, I also enjoyed the little added “summer travel bonus” of spending five days in DC with Sammie and Casey.

Spain, at the tail end of my time in Europe, was pretty much everything I needed. I left the cool, gray UK days behind at the end of August and traded them in for two weeks of constant blue skies and sunshine. There was time in Madrid, including an excellent afternoon of lunch, strolling and relaxing at El Retiro park with my friend Kenia. And there were many lazy days on the sandy beaches of La Barrosa in southern Spain with Maria’s family. Naps, walks, reading, podcasts, my first attempt at the sport of padel, lots of coffees, good conversations, great evening meals and even a marriage proposal. My niece, Eva, said “yes” when one afternoon her boyfriend of many years, Kieran, popped the question. It was a pleasure and honor to be there to celebrate this beautiful moment with them.

Then, after months of bopping around Europe, living out of a backpack, and never knowing exactly the next adventure that awaited me, I took a deep breath and boarded an early morning Delta flight out of Madrid on September 11th, settling peacefully into my seat in an otherwise empty row, meditating on a summer well-lived and finally flying back to the good old US of A. The pitstop in DC was a little cherry on top. Casey had flown in, too, so the three of us had the blessing of five days together. And because Sammie currently lives in a studio apartment in the city, when I say “together” I mean together. It was fun. A sleepover like the good old days. And, heck, I’d been sleeping on all forms of cots, air mattresses, bunk beds, couches and attic floors throughout the summer. I was used to it. We did some museums, hit some bars, took in the National Zoo, strolled through Georgetown, ate a bunch of good food, had a few meaningful conversations, and laughed a lot. Time is precious these days with my beautiful children. I cherish every moment we’re together.

So here I am. At our cabin. All alone, dozens of miles from any real community, thousands of physical miles from Europe and a million miles from where I was mentally during the summer. As I write, I’m seated at a picnic table next to our fire pit, the lake 15 feet away to my left, the leaves on the trees above me and those across the lake just beginning to make their Autumn turn. It’s another day in a weeklong string of summer-like weather that’s seen me swimming almost daily, something that would have been unheard of in late September back in the 70s and 80s when my family first started coming up here. Unlike the previous days, there’s a thick cloud cover and a pretty fierce southwest wind, a welcome blessing after a wet summer that coated this entire area in months of damp, musty, mold-inducing weather. Yesterday I discovered a pair of my leather shoes completely covered in a thin layer of recently dried up, light green, powdery mold. So as every window of our cabin and guest cabin are flung open wide, I sit here contemplating where I’ve been and where I’m currently at.

I hate to admit this, but I’m not completely loving life up here. What I mean is, I don’t love it here now. Under these circumstances. To be clear I do love certain things. The long walks, the saunas, the kayak rides, the putzing around on outdoor work. Big pots of coffee, my ability to spread out, control the TV, skinny dip, sing at the top of my lungs, even dance alone and play a mean air guitar after imbibing in a gummy Casey gave me for Christmas. These are the kinds of things I sorely missed over the summer when, night after night I was crashing at other people’s places, without private space to call my own. I love sitting by the fire, puffing on a Swisher Sweet and sucking down the Grain Belts while listening to 106.7 WJJY as the sun goes down. There’s a lot to love here. A lot to fucking love. But, as much as I want to fully embrace life at the cabin, soak it all in, it’s extremely difficult for me to do so. I suck. I know. I suck. I realize the blessing of having this place. This gorgeous place in this bucolic setting. And without it, I’d have no place to call home right now in my life. It’s just, I’m lonely AF up here. Day after day of solitude, with a rhythm that doesn’t change much, gets to me after a while. Again, I know. I suck. Most people, with their busy schedules and stressful lives, would kill to be me right now, which is why I continually remind myself to try and enjoy as many moments of this time as I can.

Perhaps another reason why life up here isn’t the greatest for me right now is I’m having to face another life transition. Another lull. A gap in time in which I don’t have a lot going on except for the process of once again thinking about and planning for what’s next. I’ve had a lot of these lulls throughout the past two years. The in-between times. Weeks between travel adventures. Times of “figuring things out.” Periods when Plan A ended up in the crapper and Plan B needed discovering. I’m a little sick of the lulls. They’re exhausting. I’ve chosen not to go back to my job in Eden Prairie anytime in the near future, so once again, if I’m not choosing that, I’m choosing something else. Which means more unknowns. More energy and time spent on figuring it all out. I’m still not ready to return to the 9-5. Not yet. Soon? Maybe. We’ll see.

One common refrain I’ve heard from people I’ve met over the past two years goes something like this… “You’re so lucky. What I wouldn’t give to be able to leave my job and just travel the world. You must be loving every minute of it!” First of all, don’t even get me started on the fact that many of these people could do what I’m doing if they really wanted to. If they were willing to sell their house, their car, leave their family behind, face career uncertainty, and live out of a suitcase. But… that’s another topic for another post. We won’t go there right now. It does get to  me a little, however, that many people don’t seem to understand when I tell them that the past two years have been amazing, sure, but they’ve also been, at time, quite difficult. I figure it’s something like this. Most of us can’t wait to retire, right? But when we do, many of us are lost or miserable because the life we anticipated is nothing like reality. Without the certainty and predictability of a steady, daily routine, many people struggle to figure it all out. Days upon days with little structure isn’t necessarily the joy ride they thought it would be. Or in another way… consider the lottery winner. The person who’s suddenly, financially set for life. Winning hundreds of millions of dollars means you have absolutely nothing to worry about, right? Life would be stress free, a constant thrill ride of first class travel, fancy dinners out, toys, cars, floor seats to your favorite NBA team. We’ve all heard, however, that it often doesn’t go this way and that the lives of lottery winners become out and out train wrecks. 

I’m not terribly bothered by the fact that most people can’t relate to how I’ve lived my life these past couple of years. Or that they only look at the positives and never, for an instant, contemplate the negatives. I’m really not. I get it. I’m living a strange life. It’s not easy to understand or to relate to it. I just wish I wouldn’t get so many confused reactions when I tell people there’s been a lot of “bad” that comes with all the “good.” This move to take some time off was precipitated by my divorce. Let’s begin there. Who wants that? And it was also driven by the fact that I was pretty miserable in my job and that I’m still quite lost in terms of where to take my career in the future. That’s not a ton of fun either. Not to mention my shrinking bank account, the loneliness I’ve felt quite often, the exhaustion of living out of a suitcase and the humility that comes from sleeping on couch after couch, floor after floor and guest room after guest room in homes of friends and family. That ain’t always such an amazing thing.

This is a rant. I get it. And again, you may not relate. But… But… In a lot of ways, I do feel like I’ve won the lottery. I don’t have to get up at 5:30 a.m. and trudge off to work every morning. Believe me, I count my blessings for that one. I don’t have to sit in rush hour traffic. I don’t have to toil away at a stressful, relentless job. I get that I’m lucky. I really, really do. I guess it’s the “walk a mile in her shoes” concept. We don’t really know what other people are going through unless we’ve gone through it ourselves. Bottom line, I’m extremely happy I’ve done what I’ve done beginning in the summer of ‘22, and I’m extremely happy I’m still doing it. It’s just that these in-between times are tough, and the energy to once again come up with a new plan is challenging and freaking exhausting.

As I think about what’s next, and as I reflect on where I’ve been, I realize that this blog and a lot of the thinking and writing I’ve done during my leave has been about me. I suppose that makes sense, in a lot of ways. This is, after all, my journey, so writing about me and my steps along the way is logical. But, at times, it all feels like a kind of giant vanity project. And I’m honestly, sometimes, bothered by the fact that I’ve spent so much time in my life thinking about myself. Especially recently. Thinking about my joys and challenges, my dreams, my future. I spend a lot of damn time in my head. While I believe that writing about my thoughts and my experiences, especially when it comes to being open about my mental health challenges, does serve a larger purpose and does help others feel seen, understood and not so alone, I don’t love the fact that I admittedly devote a lot of brain space to “me” and probably not nearly enough to the loved ones in my life. This was reinforced recently in the form of a wake-up call when, during a phone conversation with a close friend, I forgot that her father had passed away last year even though she and I had had multiple conversations about it previously. I realize shame is something we should try to avoid, but on that day, and since, I’ve definitely felt a healthy dose of it because of this.

It’s always been my hope to turn this project, this “Connection Story” project, into something much larger than myself. The tagline I use for “A Connection Story” is… Finding beauty through courage, hope and connection. From the beginning, I’ve wanted this to be more than just about me. I’ve wanted it to serve a larger purpose and to be a place that highlights the stories of others and that helps others discover the beauty in their own lives. My “Biking the Euros” ride across Germany was meant to be the beginning. It was meant to lay the foundation. A way for me to challenge myself, share my own stories and draw attention to the courage many need to live with mental health struggles.

On that note, I’m beginning to plot the next adventure. It’s in my head, but it’s not quite yet a solid enough idea to put out there in print. I’m excited about a continuation of something similar to my summer bike ride, but something that involves the stories of others and not just my own personal stories. I’ll flesh things out, and when I decide the venture is feasible, I’ll definitely write about it here. In late October, I’m heading back to what’s become a bit of a second home for me – Guanajuato, Mexico. It’s where I was this past winter and spring, and it’s a place that’s proven to be an excellent haven for writing, reading, dreaming a little and spending time with fun, interesting people. The warm, sunny weather also doesn’t hurt. Until then, I’m in Minnesota for the next several weeks, seeing friends and family, doing some writing, enjoying what remains of this incredible fall weather, and doing some of that planning that’s necessary for my future. As for right now? The wood pile is calling so it’s time for me to go back up the hill and continue to embrace my inner lumberjack. The pile of cut up logs is in need of splitting and there’s a Hamms with my name on it in the barn. Not a bad way to spend the rest of the day.