As
many of you surmised, I have a strong sense of wanderlust. Now I’m on an inner journey, writing my
memoir. In this journey I am crossing
terrain more strenuous than hiking the Himalayas, more uncomfortable than
crossing the Sahel in a make shift bus, more enduring than the pilgrimage on
the Camino de Santiago. All these outside physical
challenges in the past, I took on with enthusiasm. Comparing this process to physical challenges in my
life helps me understand. At points along these challenges’ reluctance,
doubt, and fear comes from within. It’s this inner self that I’m
exploring. The times in my life when I
was clueless on what to do as I drifted to becoming an adult. I still have those days today but I make
better decisions.
I’m
well on my way on this inner journey that’s how I know all this. The view from
here scares me. I turn in to find myself
alone as I write my memoir down on the page. Yet I tough it out moving forward writing
as much as I can get out. A scene can be
written over and over again. One rewrite
for each layer of memory. Resisting the depths, depths that I have
already traveled but don’t always want to go back to, but I must.
Do
you look inward, trying to make sense of day to day living, or of your past
life? Many of us do this at different
times, in different ways. Significant times. Times of turmoil. For me, writing my memoir has thrown me into
emotional chaos, not unexpected chaos but chaos none the same that throws me
into evaluating my life. I’m doing this
by choice. Other times I have gone into
life evaluation mode because of some outside influence that has rocked my world.
What I find interesting is that when I’m on a traveling adventure, I’m more malleable
to adapting to outside influences that go against who I am. I’m constantly
process my life.
Past
memories don’t always reflect who we are today.
In writing a memoir one takes those memories, write them down as honestly
as we can as we process how we got there to here. Parents don’t always share their adolescence
with their kids. My sister and I defiantly
agreed on topics off limits. Most of
those have come out but there are events I’m sure I have not told anyone. Now it’s time to write them down and come to
terms with them. To realize events that
I haven’t thought of in years. Most have lessons that I learned from. These are the most satisfying to write down,
to look at in hind sight.
The
next year will both unsettle me and settle me. I learned this from a day I
cooked bread all day and wrote. This is
what home feels like, I thought at the end of the day. A warm, cozy place to just be. My memoir is all about finding “Home,” for
me. Something as a military brat I never
comprehended. This year is the process
of feeling comfortable at home with family and friends. As scary as this journey is, I look forward to
moving through memories and coming out to a better understanding of the blessings
I have today.
