when home could be anywhere

notes on the future, gut feelings, and craving quietness.

little wonder,

hello hello, you bundle of magic. have the mornings started to frost where you are? 

my legs are restless. my shoulders keep readjusting. it hurts to admit it, but this city doesn’t fit like it used to. I’ve worn the shrunken sweater out from the dryer, hoping it would stretch back again, but I miss taking full, deep breaths without hearing the stitches pop.

at the start of this year, even a year or two before, I knew that stepping into a lead role for my life, believing I’m capable of shaping a future between just my own two hands, would be a laggard practice; a slow wade into frigid water, leaving time to breathe, leaving time for the body to adjust. 

is there a word that’s split down the middle between serendipity and resignation? I’m not proud of the journey over, but I have made a life I love here. aside from walking the dog every morning and evening, I don’t think there’s a single aspect of my life that looks the same as it did when I came to Portland. I ended up here by the decision of my husband at the time (a phrase that never feels natural)—back when we were two years into marriage and dreaming of the rain. he had roots here, I had friends here, and though I had never visited prior, it seemed like a perfect fit. and it was for me. 4 years later, I’m free of that marriage, free of those friendships, and immensely grateful for the home this has been. the most perfect, prickly incubator. I became myself here—biking beside the Willamette's long crinkled ribbon, falling in and out and in love again, cackling on long drives under the moon, every sacred moment of reverie and sweated nightmare; exhausting my muscles after hauling this little independent life into a new apartment.

but I can be both sad and excited at this next step forward. when “home” could be anywhere, what will I choose? where might my happiness be living? could I see myself huddled close to the window, watching winter dance in her white dress in the unhurried and cold Midwest? could I imagine a sandy layer of orange desert dust collecting by the shower drain? I want so badly to pass my gut feeling a megaphone. hey, self? the open road is ours for the taking. what do we want?

give me a hearty crackle of thunder. give me snowfall. give me a diner a few blocks down with a decent blueberry pie. I want my life lingering a little closer to adventure, thick breathing forests that could stain my fingers green, but kitty-corner to a good night out on the town. I want some quiet. I want a place where buying a home won’t necessitate doting (and wealthy) parents. a benign mortgage, if only to watch my dog sleep in the grass, if only to paint the walls a shy purple. 

the answer so rarely arrives at the doorstep, white box and tied ribbon. I know better than to wait for a jolt of electricity when I pass my finger over a list of towns, nor would I tape a map across my dartboard, close my eyes, and throw. there might be no wrong or right answer, but I’m done leaving decisions up to whoever has the louder voice; letting choices pass without my chew marks on them. when I worry I still don’t know enough to leap halfway across the country, I realize what better pairing serendipity will be to ambition. I will learn as much as I can. I’ll take the time that it needs. what a life this will continue to be, wherever I’m headed next.

with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck