Looking Forward without Looking Back
We crossed over into California yesterday so we are now 2 full states away from our home. The route from Coos Bay, Oregon to Eureka, California was mostly coastal, and the weather cooperated with lots of drama. Our original plan was to head down Interstate 5 which is the quickest easiest route south; however, massive snow fall and road closures made that impossible so we noodled down the windy coast roads of Highway 101.
California was my former home so I should feel a sense of returning to the place that made me, but I am actually quite haunted by a sense of loss of my home, my business, and again, my dog. Driving along the beach brought back so many memories of our favorite vacation place revisiting that child like sensation of running and exploring, much like John and I are doing with this trip.
Bill Viola once said that if he were to document his life by video, he would never logistically be able to watch them because everything would be in real time. Going through my thousands of emails from the bakery the other day it dawned on me that I would never have enough free time, even now with no job or no projects, to be able to read all of those emails. So why save them? Why look back?
With about 90% of our stuff donated, technically we can't look back. We are now priced out of the Seattle housing market, and have no jobs and nothing to return to. Well, that is not true at all. We did leave behind a lot more friends than I ever realized. There were a lot of friends we didn't even say good bye to. In our final weeks in Seattle, it became extremely overwhelming. We had multiple good bye parties, dinners, lunches, multiple times to tell the story of why we were leaving, and what we were doing next, multiple times being asked the question, "where will you go first?". With so much anticipation and such overwhelming effort for us to make our exodus, it sure feels good to be on the road, and yes, it feels good to be in California, especially since we are still technically in the North surrounded by the comfort of tall trees.