Something Happened on My Way Home

Tara/ December 5, 2020/ BECOMING BISEXUAL, RAD POEMS

~ a poem ~

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I want to say it was a long trip, but I don’t know when it started.

It probably started at the trailer house.

Under the sleeping bags, listening to the Wyoming winter build snow drifts against the single-pane windows. Finding warmth and comfort in my imagination.

Dreaming of a new house. Searching for a state of mind I could call home.

And nurturing the belief that I am different. Wondering where I belong. Desperate to belong.

Knowing that it can’t be here, where insecurity runs rampant. Nor there, where pretentious people lack perspective and empathy.

The conflict is overwhelming.

This will become the Story. Of. My. Life.

Forget the goddamn trailer. Hurry and turn the page.

Finally. The papers have been earned. The license has been signed. The babies have arrived. The pickets have been posted. The years have passed.

Wait. Oh no.

I need help. Please God, help me flip the table.

And so it was.

That she showed up. Unexpectedly, yet planned. Welcomed, yet feared. I had been waiting patiently for her for a long time, but even still, she caught me off guard.

That’s usually how these things go. Just like when he got down on one knee. I knew it was coming. And yet, I was speechless with emotion sitting before the outstretched ring I had chosen a few weeks earlier.

I had been waiting for that day, for a year or more. Impatient to turn the page.

Much different from the waiting that started in the year that followed and lasted 16 more. I was patient, listening to every aggravation and irritation, observing every abrupt movement and eye roll.

I waited. Not sitting on my suitcase by the front door, but sitting quietly in the back of my mind. During dinner and dishes, during dusting and doin’ it.

Still, the bags were packed. So when Universe knocked on the door and saw that I was ready to go, there was no hesitation.

No words were spoken.

Grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me from the place I had lived the longest in my life – from the house and from the temporary state of mind I had occupied for a very long time.

I climbed in and she sped away, knowing there were only a few moments before I would most certainly change my mind again.

But this time is different. And she knows it.

I am merely a passenger in this vehicle called my life. Universe is driving. And her goddamn lead foot. I don’t have a moment to ponder my decision to leave.

I need to ponder.

But the car leaves in a hurry.

Universe sees me turn around to watch him. Lowering his head in his hands. Clasping his temples in disbelief.

She senses my hesitation.

Straightening her arms hard against the steering wheel, she presses the gas pedal at the same time as if to propel the car with her own strength.

I offer him only a glance, for the pain is too great – a brief goodbye with my eye contact.

He lowers his head again.

I leave anyway. Rehearsing the reasons and the excuses. Over and over.

My driver doesn’t let me consider the “what-if’s” too long before she distracts me with her inspiration and hope. She turns on my favorite song. For fuck sake, she turns on my favorite song.

She knows me well.

My baggage is ample, full of loss and grief. And Universe gladly carries the load on this trip. My bags fill the trunk and backseat.

But I worry.

What will become of my bags when we reach our destination? Baggage is not her expertise after all. For I know it will be me who is left to carry the load of a lifetime of loss when she becomes bored with my rebellion.

And she will.

That’s how Universe operates. Giving guidance and encouragement when we need it, but only long enough to point us in the right direction. Setting us free just in time to learn the hard lessons.

This powerful longing, calling herself Universe, had visited me before. A couple times. But her tap on my shoulder was not enough to pull me away from the babies and from the abundance of dreams. As fulfilling as she claimed to be back then, I was afraid. Afraid of the unknown price I would pay to place my hand in hers.

Instead, I chose to pay the price I already knew: distress and torment, which seemed payment enough to keep my friendships and my house intact – enough to keep my family together.

The journey took longer than I expected. Five times we lost our way and drove right into despair. Sadness slashed the tires a hundred times. Or more.

The price of this trip was great.

But it has stopped raining now. I see clearly where I am. And what I have left behind.

His face is still in my rear view mirror. His tears too. I cannot look at him. For if I do, the sorrow will punch me hard in the stomach. And I will weep.

Sometimes.

Like when that one song comes on the radio. I am in Ireland on the honeymoon. I smell the comforting scent of cedar coming from the hope chest. It’s filled with handmade quilts and knitted baby sweaters that I can almost touch. I feel the loss of a house and a community left behind. That’s when I cry.

Universe snaps her fingers in front of my face and points to my bags on the lawn. She has dumped them there. Like I knew she would.

She is abrupt. Anxious to go and inspire another lost soul. I am grateful anyway. For I have found my way to a state of mind where I am free. My destination became equal to my intention. I am at peace. My journey has brought me here. I am home.

Set your destination equal to your intention and let the Universe take it from there.

The bags are out of sight. For now. Each year having carried one more inside. But the contents remain in the dark space of my attic.

They will never go away, I fear.

My travel journal has been placed neatly on the coffee table next to the succulents for all to read, as it is lengthy with lessons – and regrets.

There is a new price I pay for the state of mind I discovered. And for the treasures I found on my way home:

I found peace.

I learned humility.

I gained perspective.

I fell in love.

Happy holidays from my home to yours.

Featured photo by Dan Carlson