Two Months of Transitions, Chaos, Loss and Love

Author’s note: My other blog, Courage at the a crossroad, appears to have been eaten. Perhaps by my host, the gator. Who knows? I’ll take what the universe gives me, and use what I can. Which means the new blog is the current blog! Until further notice, at least. I’ll work on moving old posts over here when I’m not quite so annoyed with the whole thing.

Photo used under CC license from Paul Noble
Photo used under CC license from Paul Noble

It’s been over two months since my last entry. A lot, as is often the case, has happened. To sum things up a bit:

• I was ‘replaced’ at my place of employment. Which, honestly, was the best thing for both me and my employer. I hated it there, and while my boss was no cupcake either, there are certain types of people who will enjoy working for him. So, more power to them.

sarah me• Due to my newfound lack of employment, I moved out of my cute—if distressingly concrete bound—apartment, and in with Ina, in a great big house on some of the most beautiful land I’ve seen out here. Living together has been challenging, and incredibly rewarding, as we learn to communicate with each other, navigate space together, and recognize and establish personal boundaries necessary for our individual health and well being. (It’s very difficult not to just spend all our free time hanging out, despite knowing we need alone time and work time, as well. I know, terrible problem to have, eh?)

IMG_0490-0• My sweet Pi baby is missing, presumed eaten. Tomorrow marks the third week of her being gone. Moving out here, I made the decision to let both her and Pumpkin become indoor/outdoor cats, like Ina’s cat, Shadow. I knew the risks. I grew up with cats, some of which frolicked in the great outdoors. A number of which didn’t come back. I didn’t think I would have to face that risk so soon, but I console myself with the fact that she was fucking ecstatic to have had the time outside. That little girl brought down shrews, moles, mice, rabbits and at least one bird. I’m holding hope she’ll stumble home soon (any day, love, would be great), and I know that if she doesn’t at least she got a chance to live. I’d rather have that than wrapped-up safety, any day.

3563297783_1b5368fb35_z• Which segues nicely, if a bit morbidly, to my next bullet point: yesterday morning, still bleary eyed and needing coffee, I opened up an email from Hipmunk and found myself facing the lowest fares from Seattle to New Delhi I’d seen in weeks of scouring the internet. Twenty minutes later, I was booked on an Emirates flight to the Capital of India, arriving ten short days before my thirtieth birthday. Whoosh. I keep waiting for it to feel real. The closest thing I’m getting is a million tiny freak outs, every single day.

 

Dear reader,
I am terrified.

Not of India, necessarily, though pickpockets, inscrutable train systems, food poisoning and dodgy toilets aren’t exactly comforting thoughts. No, what I’m most scared of is myself. More specifically: can I do this? Without, you know, going crazy or buying an early return ticket or holing up in an ashram until it’s time for my flight home. Can I, physically and emotionally, keep up with the demands of my yoga teacher training course? Can I navigate through four months of culture shock, essentially alone? Most importantly, can I fit enough souvenirs in a 40L pack? Ha, yeah…

Look, I know this is something I want to do. In the deepest part of my heart I want to travel. See the world, experience as much as humanly possible of this insane, beautiful, out of control place we’ve been blessed with.

None of which makes me any less scared.

But it does make it possible.

Lovelovelove,

Sarah

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