boston.

11 months ago i sat in the boston airport

wondering if i would be able to get on that

plane to c h i l e – because i didn’t want to go –

and now, 11 months later, i’m sitting in the boston

airport because i went and now? i’m wondering if i

can get on the plane because i don’t want to go

 

… h o m e.

 i’d heard about the race five years

before actually applying – and i

dreamed about going 

 but –

 

it was never the right time.

or that’s what i told myself.

 

(…and really, maybe it wasn’t. life happens,

graduating college, finding a job, going back

to graduate school, it keeps g o i n g & g o i n g ) –

a train hurtling at break neck speed

and you can’t get off

and then there was the other part:

i was a f r a i d.

not afraid to go, not really, i knew i could go –

that it would be one of the hardest and

strangest adventures but…

i could do it.

 what really scared me, was coming back.

i feared that i would never be able

to come back from something like this

and be okay

& how do you?

how do you come back from something

so extraordinary – back to the place where you

only ever felt restless

 (i don’t know. i still don’t know).

// oh dear you look so l o s t,

your eyes are red when tears are shed

the world you must have crossed, you s a i d

 

 and that’s the thing, when i finally applied

and got accepted –

 my family didn’t want me to go.

they wanted to know why i’d do something

so self destructive – why would i do something

knowing that there’s a chance i would never r e c o v e r ?

 

that’s how i’ve lived a lot of my life though

driven by f e a r and w h a t if (not?)

 

i knew i had to go. God said go.

and i’d go a thousand times over –

coming home, we flew into boston.

i stayed for a week, needing a m i n u t e

a s p a c e to take a breath in, that

first inhale coming out of the water.

to figure out what it looks like

what i look like

here.

//think i’m going to boston, 

i think that i was tired, i think i need a new town

to leave this all behind

 i figured out a few things: that i could

function on my own, that i can still pray and hear God,

that there’s still so much out there, h e r e .

and now i’m home.

&there’s a part of me that feels r u i n e d

 

the way buildings c r u m b l e with the passing

of time, tick tick e r o s i o n , baking & drying out

in the sunlight like bleached desert b o n e s

and everyone goes to see them, these ruins,

because we want to see what’s left of something g r e a t

what once was, the memory –

and i’m o k a y , but i’m not o k a y

it’s feeling everything and nothing, at the same time.

 

grieving for what once was and rejoicing in what now is

it’s so hard to depend on people and you don’t get me

and i don’t get you and whats the difference between

eliquis and effient & what am i even doing?

 

back in these old streets and putting on these old shoes but they

don’t fit and i’m supposed to be d i f f e r e n t so why am i still

so much the same (as before) ?

closed off, can’t talk, can’t f e e l

but i can’t be six feet under again, not when

i know what its like to be on my knees

something about digging that grave though,

 

[there’s just so much p a i n everywhere],

there are things i used to know, people i used to know

 

& it’s p r i d e, this wall that keeps me from y o u

(thought we broke that down but it’s always under construction)

now it all feels u n k n o w n

 

maybe it’s that feeling when the adrenaline wears off

adrenal glands turning tyrosine into doamine, oxygenation

of dopamine yields noradrenaline –> adrenalne.

 

adrenaline binds to the o r g a n s –  increasing heart rate, respiration,

 overriding the perception of p a i n, inhibiting production of insulin

 and stimulating synthesis of glucose and adipose,

fuel for the flight & / or f i g h t

 

& once it’s over – there’s nothing left.

(except the pain, woman dusted g o l d ).

 

but these aren’t just r u i n s

(and i’m not ruined)

there’s beauty in the ashes

it’s time to rebuild again.

stack these rocks and make an a l t a r

altar [noun] something built in order

to remember: a reminder of God’s faithfulness, to know

where we’ve b e e n and where we’re g o i n g .

 

something to look on & r e m e m b e r,

// i’m tired of the sunet

(think i need a sunrise)

 

while moving forward

(it’s the only way my heart can go).

i will get back up, i’m going to be okay, but please forgive me .

because it’s a new road, and there will be a lot of stumbling –

// when i said “my foot is slipping,”

Your unfailing love, Lord, supported me.

-psalm 94:18

 

so here’s to the next adventure, kids.

let’s go.

 

thank you so m u c h – i can’t even begin to tell you how grateful i am, how much i appreciate everything, for supporting, encouraging, and coming along on this journey with me.

i could not have had this incredible experience without all of you –

i’ll be continuing to blog, a collection of thoughts, watercolors, photographs, and stories here: curbside violet(s) , if you’re interested you can follow, (there’s a little button on the lower right hand corner of the page that says ‘follow’ and you can enter your email there) like you did this blog, and it will email you with updates.

lyrics: augustana – boston.