The Backstory

You're probably here because you want to know why I - a woman of four decades - have decided to take a sabbatical from "life" to wake-up every morning inside of a ripstop nylon shelter. 

Option 1: In the book 500 Ways to Change the World there is  a section about how retirement should be taken mid-life for a a couple years, that way you are still in the physical shape necessary to tackle the challenges of bucket list items. I read that book more than 10 years ago and the idea clung to me.

Option 2: She done gone crazy.

Option 3: The confluence of life's events have created a window of time where the barriers to going on a dream adventure were lowered to the height of a dandelion. In winter.

It's probably a little bit of all those things. The story I'm telling myself is that I need more time. Time to think and figure out what I am supposed want to do next; without "should-ing" all over myself. Time to put the last five years in perspective. Time to heal. 

One of my uncanny abilities is to live my life on cruise control. When I am safe and the road seems clear, when I (even temporarily) know where I am going, I can auto-pilot through life. Wake-up, do the things I need to do to survive, and then fill in the spaces with activities that are just that: filler. When I have a roof over my head, hot water for showers, a reliable Internet connection, climate-control, and access to the foods of my choice, I can make it through the day without a single remarkable thing happening. I can make it through a month where my only social interactions are saying hello to the other humans in the dog park.

It's a survival technique - and a necessary one - for someone who has gotten wallopped by repeated traumas. Just make it through today/ this week/ tomorrow/ this school year... I no longer am willing to accept the idea that I am only making it through life. I want to LIVE my life. And to live my life, I have to take a pause.

When I don't automatically have running water (or proper doors!), I still need to take care of myself. Shower, toilet, hydrating. With only my wits, my dog, and the contents of my Forester to rely on, I still need to log-in for work, exercise, and feed myself. Without the safety nets of first-world, suburban life, I hypothesize it will be incredibly difficult to just zombie-walk through my life. I'm praying to the universe to revive me.

I'm going to live the metaphor. It will be uncomfortable (hopefully just sometimes), and yet provide me the opportunity to learn what things I am unwilling to live without. It will be challenging and simultaneously show me that I can survive difficult things. It may be lonely and unveil connections I didn't even realize I had. It could be a lot of things. I'll let you know.

Keep coming back.