Turn The Page… Again

So, I’ve moved – again. πŸ˜‚

This summer, my ElderDaughter informed me that they were going to sell their place in Washington & move to Texas.

Now, anyone who knows me, even a little, knows I am very liberal-minded.

One might even say… A little feral… In that direction.

So, I told ElderDaughter that, as much as I’d miss being near them, I couldn’t move with them to Texas as they wanted me to.

My mouth would be writing checks there, that my old, overweight, arthritic ass can’t cash anymore.

What does a 52 yr. old feral woman for when faced with this dilemma?

She moves to Georgia to be closer to her best friend, BelovedNephew.

Fourscore… Errr… 7 years ago

This man really, truly is my best friend. He’s been there for me as ChosenFamily/friend for so many years now, it feels more like lifetimes.

So, in September, I gassed up the RV, hitched the Jeep to a tow dolly, & drove, by myself (well, my 2 cats kept me company) for 5 1/2 days to south Georgia.

I’m now living in the bus, parked in a mobile home/RV park about 45 minutes from the ocean.

And, I’m so very happy.

I’ve been able to work my own way off my anti-anxiety meds. (I still have GAD, don’t get me wrong, but it’s much more manageable now, with less stress in my life.)

I get to go on adventures with my bestie!

Last weekend, we went to Fort King George, the remnants of an old British fort here, & I also got to go to Jekyll Island & put my feet in the ocean for the first time in my life!

One of the buildings still on the fort (they’re a LOT smaller than you’d think)
Walking thru the fort
I love the gnarly trees
The beach from the pier at Jekyll Island
DOUBLE RAINBOW!!!

I’m still adjusting to this new phase of my life (I can’t believe I’ve already been here 2 months!)

But, I am content.

Living small, and alone by choice, I am actually content.

And that’s not a small thing.

I’ve started working on crafts again.

I’ve been contemplating writing fiction again.

Things are changing.

And that’s ok.

Safety First…or last…it’s whatever.

My Beloved Nephew and I were talking the other night about risk management. He was contemplating something that could change his life, but couldn’t decide which route to take. Which risk was worth it?

Some risks are acceptable, because they are very small, & not likely to cause a shift in your life. They’re easy, both to take, & to live with.

Example – trying a new food. This might end up as a foodgasm, & you’ll want to consume this again, or it could be an ashy dumpster fire, & you’ll wretch, vowing to never let this cross your palate in this lifetime.

Risk assessment? Low, go for it. βœ…

Other risks are – possibly life altering, in that they could bring either positive, or negative equity into your life. These risks could move you forward into your goals, sparking joy & abundance…

Or they could draw you into an emotional, financial hole that would be difficult to crawl back out of again.

Risk assessment? Medium to high. Research, research, research. Maybe ask an opinion from someone trusted. Try to see what the benefit-to-loss ratio is. Write down pros & cons. Weigh & measure everything before deciding.🚧

And, of course, there are some risks that are simply too.

Too dangerous.⁉

Too embarrassing.❌

Too awful.β›”β˜’β˜£

Too deadly.☠️

Abort commencement. Please back away from the door…it’s on fire… and emitting noxious gasses.β‰βŒβ›”β˜’β˜£β˜ οΈ

I’ve been rolling along, lately, trying to manage my life by taking only βœ… risks. Sure, it’s a whole lot more comfortable to live this way financially, geographically.

But, I’m left, emotionally, canceled.

This is bland, boring, quiet (which, yeah, I like my solitude & quiet, but sheesh), and I need something else. Something more than taupe, slate and oyster. Something a little more lime, crimson and onyx.

This is where I kind of fell down the philosophical rabbit 🐰 hole in the conversation.

What in your life is guaranteed?

I mean, rock-solid, certified, absolutely concrete, as a result of a myriad of choices throughout your existence?

Death.

That’s it. Everyone gets a one-way ticket. What’s at the destination? *shrug* No fricking idea, but we’re all going, sooner or later.

Nothing, and I do mean NOTHING else carries a platinum-plated guarantee like this.

Everything else in our lives is mutable, ever-shifting, transitory & possible/impossible.

Warranties and guarantees are for large appliances.

What does this mean?

Well, for me, this means I need to start getting off my ass, taking only the βœ… risks.

I need to start contemplating the 🚧 risks. I need motion, action, & research. Cause-Effect.

I’m tired of stagnating and waiting for something to come along. Waiting for my life to truly start.

Fuck.

I’m 50 years old.

My life started without me a long time ago, and has been chugging along, watching me sit on the sidelines. It’s been mocking me for years for my inactivity.

Fucker.

Comfort is a lie. The only way to truly be alive is to always be at least mildly uncomfortable.

Because if you’re not uncomfortable, you won’t shift to change anything.

And that, is death.

The only true comfort, is 6 feet underground, with your eyes closed on this plane forever.

-“Get busy living, or get busy dying, the only sin is lack of trying”

I know, Stephen King wrote the first part of that in the Shawshank Redemption, but I would swear another of my favorite authors, Robert Heinlein, wrote that in his classic Time Enough for Love. (I’ll have to go back & reread it for the 50th time to check)

Anywho, the sentiment stands.

‘Cause I’m not ready to be dead.

Beloved Nephew

Today, I am going to attempt to define the indefinable – the relationship between myself and my Beloved Nephew.

I’ve had many people question me, as has he, on the type of relationship it is, because we don’t actually share familial genetic ties. And there are some things I’d like to set straight.

 First off, there is not now, there has never been, nor will there ever be, any type of romantic relationship between my nephew and me. This is not something that is even remotely possible, as we are family, even if we are not bound by blood. I am The Aunt, and he is The Nephew. Period. So anyone thinking anything of the sort, needs to immediately stop.

The Nephew and I originally met through his mom, Midnite, who became my heart’s sister. We met through a group that we both used to study in, & ended up best friends for many years, until she passed away from cancer in 2009. It was during our friendship that BN started calling me The Aunt. 

Since neither of them had any blood relatives in North Dakota, I adopted them into my family. They were truly the first of my Chosen Family, & came along with me & mine for holidays, whether to my house, or to my parents, it didn’t matter, as my parents always have said “With Love, there’s always room for more”.

When Midnite passed, BN and I held each other together. If not for each other, I’m not really sure either one of us would have made it through the grieving process sane. It was pretty rock bottom for both of us.

We spent a lot of time hanging out, listening to music, talking, crying & laughing. My kids starting referring to him as their brother. My ex-husband (who I was still married to at the time), didn’t even mind that he came over & hung out at the house all the time, & he hated pretty much everyone.

When I went through my divorce in 2011, BN was my rock, listening for hours on end while I cried about feeling like a failure, tortured myself about wondering whether I’d ever find love again, and bitched about all the reasons I knew the divorce was the right thing. He backed me up every step of the way, told me I was stupid for putting myself down, & comforted me with ice cream when necessary.

Beloved Nephew is my soul mate, in most senses of that word. 

He understands me in ways that most do not. I can talk to him about anything, and everything. And he can do the same with me. There is never any judgment on either side, only unconditional love.

There are nights when we sit on the phone and “game” – meaning, he plays his game, I play mine, & we talk over the phone. We’re not online, just on the phone, talking about whatever. Sometimes we’re playing the same game, sometimes not, but it doesn’t matter.

Other nights, we can be talking on the phone & doing completely mundane, household things. One night I was washing dishes & he was making himself supper – at 11:30 at night, because we always talk late at night after he gets off his shift at the nursing home where he works. There were moments of complete, comfortable silence, while we each went about our tasks. Silence that I broke to tell him that “You know, if I was doing this on the phone with anyone else, they’d hang up on me, thinking I was ignoring them”.

But it’s true, just knowing that he’s on the other end of the phone, even if we don’t speak, some nights – that’s enough. Strange, but true.

We discussed this on the phone last night (before I fell asleep on him, sorry ’bout that, Nephew!), and neither of us can ever remember a time that we’ve been angry at each other. 

Not ever in all the years we’ve known each other.

That’s just weird, even for me.

If Beloved Nephew were to fall in love tomorrow, I’d stand at his side & be his “Best Wo-Man” at the wedding, after, of course, making sure that the Significant Other was worthy of his magnificence.

If I were to fall in love tomorrow, I’d want him to be my Best Man. 

BN knows things about me that no one else does, simply because he’s been there, through hell and back, with me. Through some of the worst shit I’ve endured in my life, he was always there. 

He’s also helped me celebrate some of the best things to ever happen to me in my life, like being published – not once, not even twice, but three damn times. Once for poetry, once for a photograph, & once a whole blog post.

The same as I’ve done for him.

I’ve watched him grow since his mother’s passing, into a strong, confident, capable, compassionate & brilliant young man.

And even though he now lives across the country, we still talk at least 3 times a week, and sometimes more. He is my best friend, and an irreplaceable piece of my heart.

It is difficult, if not impossible, to put the totality of our relationship into words. People just don’t get it. 

BN is family.

He is Best Friend.

He is Soul Mate, without the romance.

He gets it.

So, in the end, I guess that’s what really matters. He gets it – just as he understands me, I understand him. 

And the rest…doesn’t really matter, does it?