I wanted to write this last night when I was experiencing some serious trauma, but when I finally had time at 5am I figured I should go to sleep instead. It was probably a wise decision because I seem to be a little better today. A little.
I found a place to live in Foster City, CA. It's a two-bedroom apartment for twice the rent I'm paying on my three-bedroom house. And quite frankly, while it is smaller it's in much better condition and much safer, so I'm almost ok with it. Almost. The problem is I'm not making any more money there than I am here. But the good news is, I can carry over my current job as a second freelance job over there. And boy will I need it.
Sure, I would love to come home at night and not have to do anything else but watch TV. But that's just not going to happen for a very long time. I'm pretty much resigned to it. I'd rather be able to sell paintings to make that money but if that ever happens, it will be a long time from now whether I have time to work on them now or later.
I managed to fly on four different planes last week when I went to CA and I was glad to see that none of them crashed. And a little surprised. The truth is, I can't picture my future. Usually I can no matter what change I'm making, but this time I can't. I guess I never believed I would ever actually do this, and now I'm doing it and I still don't believe it. I don't think I'll believe it until I'm there, if even then. So because I don't believe it, I keep thinking something is going to happen to keep me from going. Like death. A plane crash. A car accident. Robbery at gunpoint. Something.
Not only that, but despite knowing for years how hard this would be if I ever did it, I had no idea how hard this would be. This is hard. This is probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I feel like I'm abandoning my family. I sit there late at night working at the computer, listening to Rufus Wainwright sing about how tired he is of America and I actually feel like I'm never going to see my family again, I'm never going to see Texas or Oklahoma again, if I actually make it out there something will happen to me and I'll never come back. Ever. And that's terrifying. Not to mention irrational.
I know change can be traumatic. And I don't have cold feet in the sense that I would change my mind about going (not that I could now). But I don't really understand why this is so severe. The first time I ever moved away from home was very traumatic and while I was ten years old and I don't remember a lot of the specific feelings involved, I have to wonder if I'm not reliving it like some kind of post traumatic stress disorder. The difference is, when I was ten, moving was not my decision. This time it is. And I guess I decided back then that if I was to ever leave my dad and his family again, it was damn sure not going to be my decision. It would be because I didn't have a choice. Well so much for that.
They're in Oklahoma. It's not here, but I can go there and come back in a day if I want to. And pretty soon I won't be able to do that anymore. When I was ten years old we lived in the same city. And then suddenly we lived six hours apart. That move did things to me that I never really got over. And so I spent my entire life just wanting to go home. I never did though. It just never made sense to actually do it, not for my career or for anything else. I tried once, I had an interview with a TV station up there. I turned down the job. Not only did it pay almost nothing but I felt like I would be too close to my family. It's like the problem couldn't be solved no matter what I did. Now I'm getting even farther away from home and it's like I'm going in the wrong direction. Like maybe if I go too far I'll get out of the gravitational pull and it will be impossible to ever come back.
Last night I even had an anxiety dream about the cat. I dreamed that I had moved into my new place and someone else was moving into the building, and they left the door to the building propped open while they brought in their stuff. And all the pets in the building got out and were wandering the neighborhood. I'm driving home from work (after dark) and there's my cat in someone else's yard. I come back to get her and I can't find her anywhere. Stress much? I'm sure I'll have more of those before this is over.
Time to see what kind of nightmare I'll have tonight. Should be interesting.
I found a place to live in Foster City, CA. It's a two-bedroom apartment for twice the rent I'm paying on my three-bedroom house. And quite frankly, while it is smaller it's in much better condition and much safer, so I'm almost ok with it. Almost. The problem is I'm not making any more money there than I am here. But the good news is, I can carry over my current job as a second freelance job over there. And boy will I need it.
Sure, I would love to come home at night and not have to do anything else but watch TV. But that's just not going to happen for a very long time. I'm pretty much resigned to it. I'd rather be able to sell paintings to make that money but if that ever happens, it will be a long time from now whether I have time to work on them now or later.
I managed to fly on four different planes last week when I went to CA and I was glad to see that none of them crashed. And a little surprised. The truth is, I can't picture my future. Usually I can no matter what change I'm making, but this time I can't. I guess I never believed I would ever actually do this, and now I'm doing it and I still don't believe it. I don't think I'll believe it until I'm there, if even then. So because I don't believe it, I keep thinking something is going to happen to keep me from going. Like death. A plane crash. A car accident. Robbery at gunpoint. Something.
Not only that, but despite knowing for years how hard this would be if I ever did it, I had no idea how hard this would be. This is hard. This is probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I feel like I'm abandoning my family. I sit there late at night working at the computer, listening to Rufus Wainwright sing about how tired he is of America and I actually feel like I'm never going to see my family again, I'm never going to see Texas or Oklahoma again, if I actually make it out there something will happen to me and I'll never come back. Ever. And that's terrifying. Not to mention irrational.
I know change can be traumatic. And I don't have cold feet in the sense that I would change my mind about going (not that I could now). But I don't really understand why this is so severe. The first time I ever moved away from home was very traumatic and while I was ten years old and I don't remember a lot of the specific feelings involved, I have to wonder if I'm not reliving it like some kind of post traumatic stress disorder. The difference is, when I was ten, moving was not my decision. This time it is. And I guess I decided back then that if I was to ever leave my dad and his family again, it was damn sure not going to be my decision. It would be because I didn't have a choice. Well so much for that.
They're in Oklahoma. It's not here, but I can go there and come back in a day if I want to. And pretty soon I won't be able to do that anymore. When I was ten years old we lived in the same city. And then suddenly we lived six hours apart. That move did things to me that I never really got over. And so I spent my entire life just wanting to go home. I never did though. It just never made sense to actually do it, not for my career or for anything else. I tried once, I had an interview with a TV station up there. I turned down the job. Not only did it pay almost nothing but I felt like I would be too close to my family. It's like the problem couldn't be solved no matter what I did. Now I'm getting even farther away from home and it's like I'm going in the wrong direction. Like maybe if I go too far I'll get out of the gravitational pull and it will be impossible to ever come back.
Last night I even had an anxiety dream about the cat. I dreamed that I had moved into my new place and someone else was moving into the building, and they left the door to the building propped open while they brought in their stuff. And all the pets in the building got out and were wandering the neighborhood. I'm driving home from work (after dark) and there's my cat in someone else's yard. I come back to get her and I can't find her anywhere. Stress much? I'm sure I'll have more of those before this is over.
Time to see what kind of nightmare I'll have tonight. Should be interesting.
