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I’ve been walking around these past few days with my head in a muddled place.  Excitement and exhilaration are swirling around, competing with anxiety and uncertainty for the top spot in my consciousness.  Intuitively, I know this is being brought on by my impending (and approaching faster than I realized) departure; a reflexive action to the sudden shift in motion that my life has undergone within the last few weeks.  In theory, the idea to travel sounds wonderful; full of adventure, exploration, and discovery.  In reality, it’s quite the head rush.  

If I were just traveling for a few weeks and returning home at the trip’s completion, there’d be no anxiety other than the normal levels one feels when about to embark upon a trip.  But this isn’t a vacation for me; this isn’t a small adventure to explore sights unseen and areas unknown.  This, this undertaking of a magnitude I have had yet to experience, is the next step.  

There is no deadline, no timeline, and no final destination.

There is no “returning home”.

When I leave in seven day’s time (yes, one week from today), I’m leaving for good.  I’m giving up my place, packing up my things, putting everything in storage, and heading on.  I mentioned in a previous post that I’m not heading toward anything, nor am I heading away from anything, I’m simply (heh) heading on.

It’s simple really, the steps I’ve taken over the past few weeks to prepare for this.  I’ve scheduled the termination of my utilities, obtained a new cell phone (with nationwide coverage), switched banks (to a nationwide bank), got a safety deposit box to store my papers, leased a mailbox, and mapped a course.  But no amount of preparation prepared me for the reality of it all when it smacked me square in the face yesterday morning when I woke up.  

Over the past few days I’ve spent my time with the friends I’ve come to know over the years of living here.  I spent Thursday with a friend I’ve made recently; someone whom I was surprised to find a kindred spirit in, and someone whom I’ve been able to speak freely and openly with.  She is someone who I will especially miss, if for no other reason, because our friendship has only recently begun…  I spent Friday night with an old friend of mine; someone whom I’ve shared a rocky course of friendship with over the last few years.  Our friendship has transcended our time together at work, my dark period of 2003 when we stopped speaking for awhile, and various other upheavals in our personal lives.  And then last night, last night I spent with a friend whom I’ve known longer than anyone else here; someone in whom over the years I’ve been able to trust with my most personal of thoughts.  She and I have a varied past, one that has had terrible lows and incredible highs.  She has been an integral part not only in professional experiences, but my personal as well.  Our relationship didn’t work out, but our friendship has remained strong all these years, despite what’s occurred between us.

My expectations of these times spent with these people were such that I would be spending time with people I care for, people who I will miss when I leave.  I expected no more than good conversation, reflection on our past years together, and a wishing well of things yet to come.  But what’s occurred is an expected realization of what I’ve been missing out on all these years.  I mentioned in a previous post, either on this site or my other, that my relationships, friendships, and ties with my family have suffered over the years because of my working.  These past few days/weeks made that statement ring truer than I could have expected.  I’ve explored Savannah, had drinks in great restaurants, spent time at the beach, and had amazing discussions on varying topics.  It made me realize that I’ve only existed here in Savannah over these last few years, but I’ve lived here over these last few weeks.  It’s further enforced my desire to live the next chapter of my life this way.  I want to live, not just exist.  

I know this may sound a bit “melodramatic” to some, the description of my time over these last few years, especially to those of you who have come to know me through my journals and images, but understand I’m speaking in the most literal of senses.  When I went downtown, to the famous River Street area of Savannah (I assume it’s similar to the famed Riverwalk of San Antonio, which, yes I’d like to check out when I get there, even if it is “touristy”) the other day with a friend, and then again last night with another friend, I realized I hadn’t been there in over two years.  And even then, the last time, was for work; we sponsored an event that took place on the Savannah River on the fourth of July in 2003.

I have woken every morning for the past several years around 6 or so, taken a shower, gotten ready for work, and then headed the 2miles to work by 8.  My work day didn’t end until 7 PM at the earliest, often times later, after which I would head home to an empty apartment.  This has been the cycle.  Everyday, 6-7 days a week.  For years.  My entire life for the last 5 years or so has been centered in a 5 mile radius around my home.  I don’t suffer from a social phobia, nor am I anti-social, quite the contrary; I’ve just simply worked almost every day for these last few years.  I settled into a routine, a rut, if you will.  The passion I once had was smothered by my responsibilities and my misdirected energy.

That passion was reignited almost a year ago when I discovered Flickr and the amazingly talented people there.  I rediscovered this hidden wellspring of creativity and passion for personal exploration and discovery of life around me. I viewed my life through new eyes (often through the lens of my camera), and a new heart.  And if it weren’t for the people I met, and the progression that has transpired since my commencement into photography, I know I would not have been able to make the decision I made a few weeks back.

That decision, the decision to leave my job, to leave the life I’ve lived all these years, one of the hardest decisions I’ve made in my life, created an up swell of energy and excitement and propelled me into this new direction I’m about to head in.  I’ve been flying high, soaring in my mind to new heights of imagination and desire for a new life.  I’m not turning my back on the old, the life I’ve lead so far; it’s far too large a part of me and who I’ve become to ignore.  I’m taking what I’ve done and where I’ve been, and figuring out how to apply it to this new direction.

But these last few days…  I’ve been walking around my apartment with images and memories of the past few years flying by my mind’s eye.  They’re small moments, moments mainly of just my living here, no special events or any such thing; just my daily life.  It’s amazing that I’m being bombarded with this nostalgia really.  Ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll tell you I haven’t really enjoyed living here all these years.  But this is the place I’ve lived the longest in, in my entire life.  This is the first place I’ve ever really considered mine.  

This is the first place I’ve considered home.  

I’ve always lived a transient life in my mind, never really “settling in” in any one place, nor fully committing to any one thing.  On some level, I’ve always been ready to leave it all behind, to move onto something else.  Somehow, however, this place became my home, not just a place to stay.  Although at times, truth be told, this place felt more like a hotel room than a home.  In fact, a friend of mine from up north who once came to visit me, made the comment “Jesus, do you even live here?”  

Now I look at this place through nostalgic eyes, remembering;

• The first day I moved in…
• The first time I cut a rent check, ridiculously overpriced as it were…
• Buying my washer and dryer, realizing I was becoming “domesticated”…
• Cooking out for the first time on my grill (apparently in violation of a few Georgia fire safety laws)…
• Building my dining table and bed.  Yes, I’ve built my own furniture; it’s a hobby of mine.  No, I’m not Amish… :)
• The first time I “christened” my new bedroom… ;)
• The first all night party that had me up literally past dawn…
• The first photographs I shot in front of that now infamous window.  Who knew window blinds could be an accessory?
• The first time this place became a safe haven after a particularly bad moment in my life; where I took comfort in my surroundings and felt safe…
• This night...
• The first time I came home after a trip and realized I had missed my place while I was gone…
• So many other firsts… and seconds… and more…

This is not the first place I’ve lived on my own, by any means.  Practically since I graduated from high school I’ve been on my own, living from place to place, sometimes having no place to live at all…  But this was the first place I considered my own.  I think it has largely to do with the fact that I was the first tenant of this apartment; it was no one’s home before mine…  I’ve sat here, on the top floor, looking down on the fountain, watching children play in the water, cars coming and going, people moving in and out of my building, moving on with their lives.  I’ve never known any of my neighbors other than the cursory nod and mumbled greeting as we passed on the sidewalk, but I’ve outlasted every single one that’s moved into this complex.  I’ve even outlasted the original management team that was in place when this place was first built.  Everyone that has come here to work or live has moved on…

Now it’s my turn.  It’s my time to uproot and drift for awhile.  I have a course, but no destination.  I have a plan, but no intentions.  I have a route, but no direction.  And I have a departure, but no return…

There is no returning home…