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Click Your Heels Together…
“Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for the shore.” — Ray Bradbury
I am thinking a lot lately about what direction I want to head.
There are still a number of things I want to see and do in this life, so the pervasive feeling is, I’d better get cracking.
That said, I’ve never been one to leave a situation by running away from it. Unless something’s calling me elsewhere, I figure it’s always better to stay put. Changes should be the result of a longing that calls us out into the world, not made in desperation or from a feeling of hopelessness or despair. (Although, sometimes, that’s all that’s on the menu.)
Whenever you run away, you go with you.
In other words, just because you do a geographic (move elsewhere, change partners, leave a job) doesn’t mean you won’t take all that’s bothered you with you.
In fact, you will.
However, if you make a change because you feel your blood singing and your feet turning in a particular well-lit direction, itching to go, you’d best heed life’s call.
You must run toward the life you want.
So, I want to move to Santa Fe.
I don’t know yet how this is going to happen, but I am putting it out to the universe just the same.
I fell in love with Santa Fe in the 1990s when I first visited to attend a ‘Creativity and Madness’ conference through my job, at the time. I wrote a grant and got the King County Mental Health Division to pay most of my way. I took my mother along for one of the only vacations we’ve ever taken together as adults.
We fell hard for New Mexico, and Santa Fe in particular. (I’ve only felt an affinity like that for one other place on earth: London, England.)
Both times I’ve been back to Santa Fe since that first trip simply confirmed that feeling of ‘home’ to me. I feel completely at home there under that big sky, surrounded by desolate pines, scrub brush, tumbleweeds, and adobes.
When I am there, I feel like I’ve found the center of the circle.
I’ve hit the bullseye. Santa Fe suits my soul.
Follow the Yellow Brick Road.
Work or school has typically driven most of my moves over the past thirty years. Only when I trotted off to London at 18 did I completely follow my heart and soul, my longing to do something others deemed impossible: meet my favorite rock star on his home turf. (Hence, my nickname, Elton John Freak.)
I leapt, trusting that the net was there.
The Signs Are Everywhere.
Now, I find I am seeing the signs again, pointing toward another instance where I must take that leap of faith.
I cannot know how it will turn out; I simply know I must make this running jump.
In the meantime, I am starting my own business — one that I can take with me — wherever I go.
I want to see what blooms, if I plant these riotous, heirloom seeds.
Oz is a State of Mind.
Yesterday I asked my mom about all this: “What would you think about moving to Santa Fe?”
“It would be a dream come true,” she said, her face lit up at the very idea.
So, the dye has been cast.
I put out my request.
At some point during the next days or months, the road to Santa Fe will open.
I feel certain.
© 2015 Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved
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