unforeseen, unforsaken is a free weekly newsletter for the unexpected, the uninvited, and that which you cannot let go of.
Space. Time. Sky.
That’s what driving in the car on a ride, feels like. A ride is an hour, hour and fifteen minimum. Three hours max. This ride takes place alone. I know you’ve taken this type of ride before. Whether you have a destination in mind or not is irrelevant. I am a very angry person (if I’m being honest) and screaming along to songs really helps let some air out of the balloon. Alternatively, letting my mind wander about repressed childhood memories while I do 80 with the windows down is equally cathartic. I’m recognizing how important these moments are because these rides are few and far between now that I live in the city. An open road offers me something. Space, time, and sky.
What does a ride feel like to you?
I have driving on the brain because I drove home to my mom’s house this weekend. My family is on vacation, simmering in the crystal waters of an island while I sit on the ledge of my mom’s deck, high enough where I can’t be reached by her two delirious, wet Boxers who are hunting me, waiting to eat my face. I’m not here to talk about my feelings toward dogs (that is, you don’t want me to) but these dogs think they’re two feet tall instead of six. Needless to say, I can’t hang. Though I knew I was coming to dog sit, what I wanted was silence and stillness and space. A chance to get away from the city’s car alarms and to see the sun melt into the horizon line. Instead, I got legs full of scratches and bruises. For hours yesterday I was cringing, frustrated over what I wanted needed and “couldn’t get.” I got angry at the circumstance and because I don’t know how to adjust my expectations of a situation, I declared my trip ruined.
There’s a lot I could learn from taking a moment to say, Okay, whatever this ends up looking like, it will be alright. I can go with the flow. I will not let this ruin me.
I am adaptable, but I struggle to release enough control to allow myself to “ride the wave.”
But hold on a little longer. It gets better.
I put myself back together here, once upon a time. I think I’d forgotten this until I sat outside this morning, alone but for strong coffee and strong words. It was here I took a break, where I rebuilt something. Let’s call it a sense of worth. I sacrificed my home to sadness, leaving behind loneliness—my best friend, and I moved to a place that made me sadder and more lonely. At first. But here, back home, I let myself be loved, despite the occasional kicking and screaming. I landed here before taking off again, another flight.
No matter how hard we try, the light we shine into the world is bound to dim occasionally. The best we can do is stay alert to these moments, paddle back to shore.
Last night I got to watch the moon perch atop the street, sitting there, as if awaiting a playmate, striped in stratocumulus like a Halloween drawing. I won’t write about this now because I don’t have the language yet. I may release that here, but more likely than not, it will fold itself into a poem for another day. She appeared to me again this morning, when I fed the dogs. It was early, and I didn’t remember the morning air this way. You know what I mean, the time before the sun really hits its stride to set us up for the day. It feels like garage sales as a child, waking up still in pjs when the world is so cool. The breeze and the air sits and floats almost as if it’s not touching you at all — but instead gliding around your body.
She’s hot now. A little bit like I can’t breathe, but I can. It’s more similar to… the deepness of the heat sits on my cheeks and if I close my eyes, she finds me there too.
I’ve decided to say that my trip exceeded my expectations. I got something I didn’t know I came for. This feeling, the unforeseen. It is precisely that which we didn’t know we were looking for.
By the way, I’m sorry this isn’t a self-help post about expectations. I definitely don’t have the answers, but if I did I would share them with you, because I’m almost sure you struggle with this too. It is on my radar, this difficulty, and that’s the first step to working any problem out. For now I will say, Shift with the wind, little Laners! You have the potential to be less of an obsessive, controlling human being.
Today I reluctantly return to Philadelphia. Part of me wants more time here on Earth. The home I return to has incredible sky out beyond the gopuff across the street. I can’t see the sun dip at all, but her colors are there, dancing. At golden hour, she glints off the U-Haul building, and she drenches my bedroom in bronze. I can sit on my front steps to bite off a piece of what I find back here. For now, I will take what I can get.
Until next time,
a
p.s. I haven’t mentioned it, but I keep a website. You can visit it here.
Time travel in my grandma pod