I've been across the west side of this beautiful country, and I still feel very confused. It's hard to explain the feeling inside me—the one that wants so much more (or so much different) than what I have but doesn't know exactly what that is.
I sit here in glorious Ashland, Oregon, wondering about what I want, still battling the urge to binge, still searching for mysterious signs, and trying to get in touch with my intuition. I'm trying to listen. I'm trying to do this thing.
I want to go home, but I don't know where home is. Houston doesn't feel like home anymore. I plan to move out of the house where I'm living as soon as I return. The question is only where to go. I am caught between the desire to write and create and the need to earn a solid income. How solid does that income need to be? Where will it come from?
Even at the hardest times in my life, I've been okay. I've been cared for. I cherish the support I get from others, the love I feel all around me. I cherish it and hold it dear, but all of these experiences are not reducing my level of anxiety and worry.
I changed the oil in my car today—or rather, I had some car experts do it for me. I wish I could do a sort of oil change on myself. I guess that's what people are looking for with detox regimens and colon cleanses, but this runs deeper than the physical. I need to change the way I see the world in some fundamental way. I need to make the pieces snap together in a way I know I cannot. So I search.
I definitely feel like an eternal soul trapped in a mortal body, like I'm some sort of spirit that has come down to help this Michelle Cowan person make it in this world. Sadly, the spirit part is kind of sick of doing the human thing. My spirit is stuck here, with this body at all times. I have to deal with hungers and tiredness and limited sensory capacity. I have to move linearly through time, deal with people, and adopt a limited perspective. How can I appease this restless spirit part of me? How can I live a life in this body that satisfies my spirit?
I am, oddly, afraid that I'll wind up as a crazy homeless person or something. I see myself as successful, peaceful, and happy, but this other, scary, deeply unsuccessful image comes to my mind, too. It's strange. I know that I will be okay, but at the same time, I don't know if I'll be okay. I don't even know where I want to live. I feel like spacing out and being by myself for a while, which is what I'm doing at many points during this road trip. Interestingly, my best moments on the journey have been with people, but I've loved the alone time, too. I guess that means that despite my need to solitude, I need to ask for help.
Frankly, I need a job (or maybe multiple small jobs). I have enough work to occupy me for now, but that's mostly because road tripping takes up the vast majority of my time. I will need more if I want to pay rent. I want to go into a job at least three times a week, have friends, and live in a home I love. I also want to do some of my work on my own time, according to my rules. That's just me and just some of the time.
I hope that writing and music could add up to be enough, but I also need steady part-time work to give me a secure and steady salary. What will I do, though? What will I do that I won't absolutely hate? I feel very open, but I'm not sure what the opportunity will be.
It occurs to me that the opportunity will come at the perfect time and that the time isn't here yet. I wish it could get here soon. I'm ready for it.
In an interesting sidenote, I finally have a pretty concrete idea for a novel. I'd like to bring that to fruition. I'd also like to record an album. Both projects move slowly, they are far from money makers. Perhaps I would be better served by leaving off the worry and just creating—create without financial worry. It is possible? Methinks yes.