COMING HOME TO MYSELF

The family vacation is over. The time went so fast I might as well have been eating an ice cream. I flew home on Wednesday and it took 3 airplanes, getting lost in the Chelsea fog and a quick sleepover at Moms before I could drive to Maine and really come home. I'd been gone for 8 days and my sails felt full and my heart light. I had no access to TV or Internet or telephone. I'd completely cut the cord. No news, no terror, no communication, good or bad except with the three men I was travelling with...and that exchange was extraordinary. When I left the hotel in a taxi at 5:30 AM, I was setting sail on my own adventure and feeling confident the men would have a great passage following the gulf stream up to the Virgins, the Bahamas and then Florida.

Sadie was wiggle-wagging her tail nubbins in celebration of my return and the house seemed to welcome me too. I never heard the world was due to end today and it was odd that the media would zero in on something fantastical and scary when I thought news was supposed to focus on whats really happening. So much for my beliefs. Now it is Saturday. I need to hear something and my brain goes zipping around like a black fly looking for a warm crevasse. I made the mistake of googling the weather in the Caribbean and watching the 10 PM news. I gave my mind junk food and now it's spinning a sweet trap of nameless dread. Here in Bethel it is pouring rain and the black flies are thick and the grass is so long and wet that it will take 2 days to dry enough to mow. I realize I have created a challenge for myself.

This is the first time in 28 years that Stephen has been away for more than 3-4 days. I stand at the doorway of a month of just me and my girl. My garden is feeding me asparagus and rhubarb and I have lots of chives and fresh herbs to add to my meals. I can eat what I want, when I want and I can write in bed and walk around naked. I haven't had this much wild space for just me since before I met Stephen. It's delicious. But it too will pass quickly if I can practice happiness. There is my challenge. I have to correct the mistaken belief that my happiness depends on someone else. As a child I was a sucker for the rescue of a prince or the coming of the saviour...fairy tale endings were the goal but they always relied on someone other than the heroine...and future promises. So...here I am catching myself in waiting mode...waiting for a call, waiting for a message, waiting for the perfect moment wondering what the hell am I waiting for? Actually all I'm waiting for is myself to step up to the plate and act on my own behalf. I know that sounds basic and simple and adolescent. Most women wake up to this truth long before their late 50s. Guess I've overslept...ate too much of that poisoned apple or something. I always thought if I just tried hard enough I could be one of the guys...I could be as adventurous, as brave, as devil may care. Hard work, determination and denial of my tender feelings, fears and needs was my path. How could I expect to achieve any kind of self love when my most basic female self was my enemy?

So here I am...in the pouring rain of Bethel Maine waiting nervously for word from the three chambers of my heart...Stephen, Sam and Will... choosing not to spin off in to a panic...choosing not to dwell on Armegeddon...choosing not to hate myself for not going with them because I can't stand hours and days of a wet crack...choosing not to hate myself for not being one of the guys. I'm on my own journey. I'm captain of my own ship...no...not Ghostboat. My boat is called ELISE and I'm sailing home...to myself.