Sometimes I get home from work and all I want to do is put on pajamas, order Chinese food and watch TV until I fall asleep.
And then I remember I’m a hard-working, single adult. So that’s what I do.
Freedom means going to bed early when you really want to.
I need to clean the floor. That’s when I notice how much floor I have. Finally unloaded some ancient cardboard boxes full of books, tapes and crinkled memories. Each Disney animated movie released in the 90s holds a gift basket of connotations and aspirations in my heart. At this point, I have them committed to memory. Clam cases are destined for kitschier art than mine.
The floor is dry. It turns out the best way to start a home practice is try and plan a yoga lesson. Every day of that week you will do at least one of the poses you look at. Or maybe it’s another one of my nervous tics – like singing along to country music. That said, I will teach a group of people what I do to keep myself feeling good. Standing in front of people and asking for their attention is scarier than skydiving. This might be the only time I ever do it.
Honestly, it’s hard being alone with myself. I won’t keep my hands off me. Last month, I started to worry about other people’s opinions. I’m not really sure why, but a few swift kicks to the metaphorical groin fixed that. Freedom is a little too fresh to start playing with social pressures. All my gauges are level. A rare moment of stillness before the challenges of 2016 crash down. Enjoying the view in both directions.
Dear Congressman
Driving down the street
I witnessed a most horrific thing.
Not sure if you know about this,
Given the ails of our once great nation.
A small trifle, about some lost souls.
Pardon my shock
I believed the barbaric ritual
Of vigilante dissatisfaction
Fell out of style, like
Wife-beating and electroshock therapy.
Needlessly inflammatory attacks
Implying terrible things
At the entrance of businesses.
dedicated to the care of ladies
and all their parts.
(I’ll remind you, son
All women are ladies.)
The words they use
In the clever URLs
Or loosely rhymed phrases
MURDER
WRONG
KILLER
I don’t blame the words. Never do.
I’m concerned for these poor zealots
Standing in the cold
In the heat
In the wind
In the rain
Not in the snow.
Memphis shuts down when it snows.
As a registered voter, I wonder
Isn’t there something we can do?
Let’s do them a favor. Be humane.
Help end a pointless poster board vigil
Come up with some legalese way
To curb this stark blind spot
In the tentative American agreement
To agree to disagree.
Frankly
I’m appalled that we still ALLOW
This sort of bullying in the streets
of this once-beautiful city.
I, like King, have a dream that one day
Intolerant people will shut the fuck up
And mind their own damn business.
Judged on content of character
and found lacking
In public decency, at least.
I apologize.
My opinions don’t fit into a #.
As a life-long citizen, I’m concerned.
What if a child passing by sees these gangs
Of pamphlet-weilding soul sucking saviors
And accidentally believes them?
Don’t go in there Mommy. They are murderers.
It’s okay. I’m here for a yearly checkup with a doctor to make sure I stay healthy.
No murderers?
No dear.
Why did that sign say the doctors are murderers?
Because freedom of speech is legal.
So, I get to say whatever I want?
No, dear.
Why not?
You have a sense of empathy.
Oh, good.
It feels like I’ve been packing ever since college. Boxes of things sitting in corners my whole life. Why can’t I throw things away? What am I saving an old hummingbird feeder for? Sure I like hummingbirds. That’s why I have the feeder. But I don’t unpack it or hang it up or put sugar water in it, so my affection for hummingbirds is a moot point. Instead I’m gradually accepting that precious things are just garbage sitting in boxes. Boxed belongings are a sure sign of greed.
So each day I’m packing a box of things I want to take with me and unpacking a box of things I don’t need anymore. I’d like to say I’m throwing away a box of things I don’t need. In reality, I sift through each time capsule agonizing over some trinket or other. Digesting my past with the four stomachs of a cow, I sometimes need to ruminate over a memory before passing it. Some items survive 3 or 4 boxes before I fully detach.
When people see the things I throw out they exclaim, “You’re gonna want to keep THAT!” I tell them I did. Now I’m done keeping it. “Would you like to keep it?”
“Well… no.”
Honest to gawd truth, I had no clue there was a new Star Wars movie coming out today. It’s a pretty insane concept considering my interests and friends, historically. It might be the most telling evidence of my change. I’m just not the person I used to be. Or I’m finally myself again. That part is still unclear.
Either way, my only personal affection for Star Wars is limited to Return of the Jedi. I remember experiencing a very base attraction to Mark Hamill as a young Jedi and an even baser attraction to Cary Fischer as a woman. She’s the first princess I ever identified with. Her way with Harrison Ford says it all.
Anyway, I’m really glad they are making this new trilogy. I’m even happier I don’t give a damn about it. I have zero investment. If it sucks, I’m not out anything. If it’s epic, I have that to look forward to. I’m pretty sure I’ll have time for Hollywood nonsense in another few years or so.
Has it been that many already? Well, *shrug* this is Sparta or something.
The actual steps of moving aren’t far out of reach. It’s taking the steps that seems insurmountable. I’m so close to the end of my checklist every time I look up I can smell the Pacific Ocean. Leaving for no reason might be hardest. It takes a lot to get up out of a comfortable spot. And I’m really comfortable in Memphis.
A comfort born out of callouses and puffy red eyes. Watered with tears, the roots of my story have grabbed hold of me. This seed is ready to plant and all I see is hard clay dirt. There are stones still left unturned, despite my contrary efforts. It’s good for all of us that way.
Ah hell, let’s be honest. One or two more steps will involve local stones.
The name’s Chelle. Ro Chelle.
Soon, I’m going to stand in front of a group and demonstrate yoga poses. I will then ask the group to repeat what they’ve seen. Then we will all do the same poses a third time to complete the cycle. As the group leader, I will plan a series of poses that follow logical sequences and encourage the basic principles of hatha yoga that beginners need for a strong practice. I intend to share the benefits I’ve gained from my yoga practice.
I’m not teaching until I can get all the way through one of these sessions without apologizing for myself.
Someone introduced herself as a suicide survivor once. Interest reflexively piqued, I’m immediately suspicious of anyone advertising self harm. Continue reading Suicide Survivor