Sometimes Staying is Moving

I’ve moved fourteen times in the last thirteen years across five different states. It has been a love/hate relationship, to say the least.

I would say that these moves are equally split between circumstance and choice. The biggest moves, across state lines, were generally made by choice, while the more minimal local moves were based on circumstance: a break up, a transition into a more committed relationship, a lease ending.

Each one stands as a metaphor for a specific moment in my life, and I no longer associate moments with years, but rather memories defined by my geographical locations: “Oh yes, that was when I lived in that large Victorian house broken up into all those shitty apartments in the Highlands and my neighbor smoked weed and blasted music every night until 3am.”

I’ve recently noticed within me this habitual desire to move. And, I don’t mean the process of packing up one’s stuff and taking it to a new place because I actually hate that. No, I’m talking about this feeling within my soul that yearns to be in transition. I often debate what came first, the chicken or the egg, the love for moving causing me to move or the constant cause for moving that made me love it.

Again, I think that my childhood plays a significant role in gauging these feelings (because, let’s be honest, it always does). My parents got divorced when I was five. I grew up in Colorado with my mom and brother. My dad always lived in Southern California. Colorado, undoubtedly, feels like home, and I definitely get all the feels for the townhouse that I lived in for most of my middle school and high school years, but I haven’t had a place to return to as “home” since I left for college.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think that some of my searching as an adult is in direct response to find that feeling.

These experiences and the internal dialogue made the choice to live in an Airstream relatively easy (as far as emotions are concerned). I feel equally connected to all of these places that I’ve been fortunate enough to live: Basalt, Denver, Boise, Sun Valley, Portland, Louisville.

A mobile lifestyle created a sense of peace more than a sense of anxiety.

I realized that at any given moment I could whisk myself away to any of these places to experience a deep level of security that comes from being in the familiar while also having the flexibility to venture into the complete unknown.

There is my paradox: the desire for the stable routine alongside the mystery of a spontaneous adventure (yes, I’m also confused by it).

The problem with constantly moving is that I don’t have to work through anything in its present state. When something becomes uncomfortable, I can busy myself with that next transition. I can avoid the issue. I can constantly start over when something doesn’t turn out the way that I wanted it to turn out.

As a perfectionist, starting over is attractive. You hurt me, I leave you. I hurt you, I leave you. Part pride. Part immaturity. Starting over zeroes the scoreboard, and I open myself up to another opportunity to go undefeated. The caveat is that going undefeated in life for any lengthy period of time is impossible (not the answer you’re looking for when you grew up as an athlete).

I arrived in Denver just a little over a month ago. It was going to be my second stop in a long list of must-do travel locations, but the numbers have no real qualification since I’m not on a vacation. This is my actual life, and I promised myself before embarking on this journey that I would stay when my heart felt compelled to stay and I would leave when my soul yearned to leave.

That was the ultimate point of getting the Airstream. To have the simultaneous freedom to both remain stationary and move at a moment’s notice. For everyone, leaving is always a choice (even if that choice feels indefinitely out of reach). For me, staying needed to also be a choice. My current learning is to know myself in both states of being.

After nearly a decade away from Colorado, it’s been really refreshing to be very present here. My family is here. So many of my friends are here. The mountains are here. And, while I could endlessly bitch about the overpopulation in Denver and the insane amount of traffic, this city is filled with the hustle and bustle of a plethora of young professionals. Again, I live in a paradox, wanting to be surrounded by the intellectual stimulation of a city skyline and the remote quietness of a small mountain town.

I didn’t have a finite timeline when I arrived, and if you ask me when I’ll leave, I won’t be able to give you an answer. I don’t really know. I don’t really want to know. Because, if I’m being honest, there is a very big part of me that is searching for a reason to stay. Here. Anywhere.

This is where the guilt sets in. Because, I seemingly have the world at my fingertips, and I’m choosing to stay. So, I am recognizing that, yes, I yearn for transition, but I also feel an external pressure to be on the move.

And I don’t want to exist in any experience because I feel an external pressure to be there.

Right now, staying is providing me the growth that I need in this very moment. I’m nurturing the relationships that I feel compelled to nourish. I’m climbing the mountains that are constantly calling my name. I’m sitting in my discomfort because, believe me, no one goes through an entire month without feeling at least a small form of shitty.

I’m choosing to face those feelings.

Oh yeah, I am also flying to Austin next week to squeeze some of my favorite humans for a few days. So, maybe it is possible to have it all. I don’t know yet.

I’m still wishing and still learning.