Amalgamation (uh-mal-gah-MAY-shun)

amalgamation (noun) - a combination or blend of diverse things, sometimes companies or metals; an alchemist's word...the number of things running through my head that are in no way related in reality but somehow encompass The Brain at the moment



Road
So many hours in the car between here and Wilmywood, here and Atlanta, just me and the Rav and the pavement. And for the first time in a long time, the car is meaningful - mine, that I'm paying for, that feels like me the way my first car (92 baby blue Honda Accord with pop-up lights) felt. Time passes in the car with me in hazy, unfocused autopilot, driving the drive I know well. Or lost in some imagined scenario: job interview, apartment hunting, going to London, winning backstage passes to John Mayer. Or in the music. Whatever I'm listening to, so into every note and word and feeling it and singing it and knowing it. Most of my CDs went into storage for lack of a place to put them. I am thankful for Keane and The Fray and Jeff Buckley and the words that I sing, that run through my mind long after, that tell me someone else has been in this place before.

Moments
Teetering on the edge of the other side of the canyon, casting a caustic glance at where I came from, I crave moments that affirm that it's good that I made the jump. Sometimes they come in the everyday - deciding which facial scrub to buy at Wal-Mart with Mom, uncapping and sniffing, reading the backs and pretending we have any idea what makes one better than the other. Going to the quilt shop, touching the fabrics, admiring the patterns and color pallettes, planning to make a skirt or a shirt while I'm home. Listening to the rain drip off the edge of the house and splatter on the front porch while reading.

And then there are the moments I know I am needed or wanted. When Eva tells me that she is so glad that I'm home, how badly she's missed me. How they all held their breath this weekend fearing I would say I had made a mistake. (The unspoken reality that I held my breath, too.) The observations of other people become surprising. The Boss asking, "Are you happy? Because you seem to be really happy." And it seems too long since someone has made that comment.

Observations
This odd quality in me rising to the top again after hibernating for some time. I open my eyes to what's just there and enjoy it. I take it in, when others miss it, overlook it. A red-headed woodpecker in the front yard. The vibrant green color of the choleas we planted two weeks ago. Riding with the windows down. That a product called "Fluff" in a jar exists.

Future
Growing less distant and more real with each passing day. The realization that I've got to move forward is dawning, but less disturbing. This respite in the safety net of home has given me a sense of peace. The knowledge that family and friends are here to rally behind me, to help me make the next leap, make it less scary. The first time, I walked the wire alone. But this time, there will be hands to keep me steady, push me forward.