Into the eye of the storm we head. We passed the storms of transitioning away from the seminary, moving down here to this half-baked apt complex, and seeing me starting work again at another company that is probably not going anywhere. But, I’ve convinced them that I can do my job, I’m drawing the paycheck, and we’ve made the offer on the house and the sellers have accepted. Now, for a weekend or two of calm before the other side of the storm hits us. We still must have our lendability ripped apart and pieced back together, have the apt complex give us shit for breaking the lease, move again. Yes, another storm is coming but it won’t be any worse than the one we’ve already weathered.
As for me, I’ve found myself adrift again, not really knowing who I am or why I’m here. I try to make the most out of the little moments I get to share with my son, and not worry too much about the rest of it. My conscience would rip me to shreds right now if I faced it head-on.
I’ve really started to accept the idea of me living in the house we will be moving into for the rest of my life. I don’t see myself working where I’m working now for more than three years at the most. I don’t think the company will last much longer than that. I am not even sure if I will be doing what I presently do for a living for the rest of my professional life. I may very well find myself scrambling from one sales or adminstrative job to the next, stitching together a few here and there just to keep the house and keep putting some money into savings.
I’ve mostly made my peace with the way that life has turned out. I rarely look at someone else’s life and linger, thinking that if I ever get to come back here again, I will want to be like them. I don’t analyze my past life choices and long for a do-over.
My brain just wants to float away on a dream or two, and not take anything too seriously. My brain wants to send me flashes of happy memories of being on the beach with my mom and brother, or summers in the small town after I got my driver’s license and I worked at the Subway sandwich shop. There are moments of standing in the university library, rummaging through the stacks, and a few stolen glimpses of life lived here in Austin. These are like snapshots in a photo album, or scenes jumbled together on b-roll with no real meaning or thread connecting them. An expert editor could piece them together and tell you a marvelous story, but I’m not that individual.
I rather favor the idea of wandering in my own head, my own thoughts, my own memories, during this eye-of-the-storm weekend, before the shit blows in and we are busy and crazy and stressed again. Maybe by Christmas we’ll be all settled in with pictures on the wall and talk of having another kid popping up. I’ll have my easel set up again outside, and maybe some weights and a bench, and I’ll throw myself completely into being a domesticated suburban non-entity of a dad for two decades or three.