I don't mean to be all ceremonious about it, but it feels like it deserves a little more than a status update. Actually, even when I move cities for as-long-as-I'm-happy, I never want goodbye parties. My parents barely know where I am. Only my phone knows.
This allergy to emotional gatherings is a defense mechanism. I can't remember the last time I cried. I assume I would if I ever said goodbye. I just say "hi", I take the backdoor, and I fly. I'll see you later.
My body floats across the globe, laughing at gravity. Sometimes, I walk but I feel like I float. And I dance, spending a little more time up in the air between each propulsion in tune with the band jammed in my brain.
In this way of living focused on developing presence, awareness and sensations, some things don't make much sense. I'd be surprised if I never get arrested because of this inability to process non-sense, like this stupid immigration system that won't give a visa to someone who wants to create jobs. Go figure.
Last time I crossed the US border, sometimes in May: My knees were shaking, my palms were sweaty, but I hadn't had Mom's spaghetti. I'm no actress, I suck at lying, which I wish was a lie. I don't consult for software companies anymore, as you can see...
If I hadn't been a cute white girl, I could have been in trouble, as in 5 years out of the US, deported and all that shit. No, he flirted with me. Thank God he didn't look me up online, busy gazing at my neckline.
Anyhow. I was dating this man from Mexico, and we'd talk about a fresh start down south. And now I had to move to prevent deportation. Mexico City is cheap, warm, close, new, vibrant, culturally exciting. It made sense, it still does, so my friend bought me a ticket, asking me if it was my dream. I said "yes, it is. I will go write."
2 months passed, and a lot of: "What? You don't speak Spanish, and you've never been to Mexico? You're crazy!", and no real preparation, including me postponing my lost passport paperwork.
Then, NYC, a few days ago: I'm high, happy as one can be, my heart is wide open. I won't be sleeping for two days. Nothing bad, don't worry Mom and Dad, Molly is chill, and I just have a lot of energy. I got so much from all these people at the club.
We slouch on the couch. The sun is asking to come in, "not yet" I tell him.
We set intentions, we manifest our future, we design a vision. We describe our life, in a near future: there is space, stillness to build a foundation, support, growth. It's all coming together.
Yes, she is also moving to Mexico. I couldn't believe it when she told me, I was so surprised! What a blessing and a magical human being she is in my life.
The music keeps playing, I'm dancing. Our heads are full of pretty images and serotonin. Naked. Childish, with wise words.
I realize that this man from Mexico doesn't deserve a visa to my heart anymore. I text him, he replies with a song. I delete him from Insta, Snap and tell myself this time will be the one, of too many ones. I feel free. Finally.
I still can't sleep. It's 9:17am. I walk all the way to Times Square. I've seen it too many times, so I turn around, avoiding the cops. I'm an illegal alien, after all, and Molly's shadow is following me. It takes hours. It's 95 degrees.
As I walk, a new plan draws itself in my head.
It's perfect, in every way:
I'm going home, where I was born, where the human warmth from the ones I love makes up for the bone-deep cold. Somewhere close to Montreal, at my parents' place, by a river, bordered by fields full of curious cows. A bed for my head full of words, a sanctuary of peace.
There are a bunch of cherries on top: My dad just finished renovating the two upstairs bedrooms. There is a second living room with a backdrop, cameras, sound and lighting equipment to do photoshoots and videos for our online businesses, it's driving distance to Boston and NYC where her and I lived, etc, etc...
But most importantly, I want to be there for my awesome sister whom I miss so much, who is a little homesick back there in Germany, my loving parents, with whom Skype dates never work, and my closest friends, whose bellies are growing with little humans inside them. They matter more than weather.
I placed all the pieces flat in my mind, and the puzzle once completed formed a wonderful picture. I felt a sense of calm take over me. Everything was okay. She felt the same. We both knew.
I am tired. Exhausted from all these adventures, packing, unpacking, running to gates, too much food, strangers, dirty shoes, and no groundings. Don't get me wrong, I'm deeply grateful too. I just need perspective.
I feel like I've been on a 5 year trip. It's okay. I have seen enough. I've been pregnant for too long, it's time to birth these stories.
The psychic told me: "You don't need to run away from comfort. It's okay to be supported to build the foundation for your business."
Yet my ego felt like going back would be a failure. As in, I didn't get a green card through a marriage, which would have had to been faked in this case. Oh I'm sorry, I can't kiss the groom who'd maybe be a gay man pressured by his religious parents to marry a white girl as I sign a cheque and post awkward pictures on Instagram for the immigration officials to be at peace only to find fault in how I describe his fancy spaceship toothbrush and the scars on his confused heart.
No. I'm sorry. I can't do this. I still believe that the heart does go on and on. And I do love Celine Dion.
Actually, the one thing that can make me cry is to see an old couple in love. It gets me every time. Like the movie "Up", or the "The Notebook". And onions.
But why say "going back"? Isn't it always forward movement, rotating between places that experience constant change, you included?
An hour after this revelation: We are walking to dinner in Brooklyn, and my heartbeat accelerates, pumping blood to all my body to get it ready to defend this totally new plan I just made up out of thick air, all the way to the opposite side of the continent.
"Guys, I'm nervous to tell you this, because I know how everyone is excited about Mexico, but I have a better plan".
So I pitched, and she smiled, and we Skyped, and that was it. Bing bang boom. In 6 hours, we changed our life plan, 360 degrees. Salsa to maple syrup.
And now I see my iMessage, my Facebook Messenger, my Snapchat, my Instagram, and I smile as to how my ties to Canada are getting strong again. My 4 best friends in Snapchat are Canadians, that says it all. I will be honest, the forest fires and the rise of the Trump tragedy puts Canada in perspective; Justin Trudeau is the man.
I do savor every day in LA, I go to the beach, wink at the palm trees, but I can not wait to be home. To rest. To clean up. To find a routine again, and to edit 200,000 words of adventures. God help me.
I'll get a dog to ground me. I'll cut my Californian mane bleached by the sun. I'll sit in the shade and open my mouth wide to the falling white.
And the more I reconnect with my inner child, the more I feel ready to have one or two or three. They would want grandparents too. Grandparents always make better food.
There this man the psychic told me about... Dark traits, a writer too. Maybe it's him. Maybe he's home already.
I'll be there soon.