For anyone that read my last post and didn’t conclude that I don’t exactly want to be living at my parents house, well…I don’t want to be living at my parents house.
I spent a good amount of high school lusting after my college years, my association with freedom at that point. So, it doesn’t come as a huge surprise that I’m not completely stoked to have come back to the nest after I thought I had fled for good.
But, my current life and financial situation necessitates it, for at least a short while. And I’m finally accepting that. That doesn’t mean that acceptance hasn’t come with my “adult” version of a temper tantrum, kicking and screaming the whole way. That’s definitely a part of why I’ve been so overly zealous of seizing every and any opportunity to move my physical location lately.
Past Hobo Attempts
Anywho, a strangely parallel situation from my youth has actually popped into my mind of late, running alongside the temper tantrum theme.
As many children threaten to do at some point, in my 7 years of wisdom and severe identity crisis from associating with Shirly Temple because of my hair (kidding), I democratically informed my parents one night that I was running away from home.
Mom and Dad, I’ve come to the conclusion that your ice cream rationing is bullshit. I refuse to live in this dessert dictatorship any longer. I’m leaving to find frozen-sugar-and-dairy freedom on my own. Screw you guys. I’m out.
Apparently I started cursing at a young age.
The point is, for whatever forgotten reason, I decided that finding alternate living accommodations would be the best solution to my exorbitant life problems. I was a complex kid, what can I say.
However, as I began gathering my most precious belongs for the big move, I started to realize that while freedom of ice cream consumption was extremely important to me, I had failed to consider the small detail of where else to actually go. Other issues arose as well. Who was going to pack me a sack lunch for school in the morning? Clearly my plan had some slight shortcomings.
So, I revised my previous statement, went to my parents and asked if I was allowed to run away to my playhouse in the backyard.
Way to stand your ground, kid.
For those of you a little slow on the uptake, ice cream is code for way of life, philosophical bullshit, blah, blah-de-blah, blah, etc. (For the record, I still hold my past sentiments about the aforementioned issue pertaining to ice cream.)
What my long-winded-point is, in all this temper tantrum business, I’ve failed to recognize that home ain’t all that bad. That I want to be an adult, and I have confidence that I’m getting there, but there are still these small adulthood things to sift out, like rent, car insurance, health insurance and money for food (ice cream).
To point out the obvious, I’m not quite there yet.
Clearly, independence has held a certain allure for me from an early age. And clearly, I still haven’t quite broken the habit of sometimes wanting to jump a little prematurely.
It’s more than a little chaotic at times, but the only thing that scares me more than my personal fears is the fear that I’ll let them consume me in such a way that I forget to actually live and enjoy the beautiful life I’ve built for myself.
So, I’ve been running with scissors, so to speak. And I’m going to keep sprinting with those motherfuckers.
I couldn’t be happier.
In the meantime, I’ve discovered that there are worse places to bide some time than Sonoma County. I’m lucky enough to practically have Annadel State Park as my backyard. In fact, I rarely have to drive to trailheads for my runs, as I’m able to hit dirt in just over a mile from my front door.
Late afternoon on the red dirt trails of Annadel.
A semi-view of the lake I spent four summers lifeguarding. Holds a special place in my heart, and it’s generous pay checks definitely made these last four months of travel possible.
And there’s been a slightly endearing nature to rediscovering my family’s quirks, like my mother’s habit of jumbling her words and wishing me “goodnight” every morning that she leaves for work.
…they’re adjusting to me being back as well. I already discovered two precious sleeves of thin mints hidden in the back of the freezer and Ghirardelli chocolate chips in the crevice of a cabinet.
Nice try folks. Time to step up your game.