Where does your road lead to?

Only moments away from midnight as I type this and even though I know tomorrow brings yet one more morning I shall arrive late for, I cannot find my slumber. Is it a certain sense of inner peace that keeps me from sleeping as of late or perhaps the constant motion of my life leaves my body ill prepared for times of rest? Neither really seems to fit. Right now, I feel like I’m bursting at the seams… but I can’t think of anything to say to you. If you understand this, perhaps you could explain it to me sometime. My skin itches and my tongue tingles.

There are few times I wish you weren’t here with me, next to me… listening and reacting instead of reading, but tonight… tonight, its a blessing you cannot see through this viral networking and see my rare form… only made rare as its not an appearance, if you will, I’ve indulged… ever.  Hair wild, face bare, pedicure chipped, and holes in my sweater… but that’s yesterday’s news. I’m not a well kempt child most times. Tonight I am sitting alone, in my now quiet apartment overlooking a dark lot, relying on the twinkle of the Christmas tree and the pale light from the monitor to light the rooms. Headphones are surging a favorite haunting and emotional tune of Serena Tideman’s as loud as they can. Her music overthrows me… infects my soul, as The Gentleman might say. You would see the pause in my sentences, the closed eyes and the gentle sway of my body as her melody consumes me.

Closer still… remnants of a meal shared with a friend whom my thoughts escape to and from, equally and often… such an emotional rollercoaster this relationship. The cracks left on my heart are healing quicker than I thought possible and are less visible to the untrained eye. Crayons and stuffed friends scattered about revel the path my smaller, innocent self devastated before fading to catch her dreams.

Perhaps, my point isn’t visible yet. And how would you know, really? You’re yet a voyeur in my world… a respected and enthusiastically received meanderer. My excitement, restlessness… eager anticipation is wrought of independence and “firsts”… new journeys and emotional walls… scaled and left crumbling.

This is the first Christmas alone with my daughter... the first of many. Addison and I have diligently accepted the mission of embracing “firsts” every night; first ice cream party in the bathtub, first oatmeal fight in the kitchen, first dance in each room until our legs are weak and our throats are sore from laughter. My daughter: my life, my inspiration, and I are a mere 3 months away from our first year living on our own. An event the majority of my peers hit nearly a decade ago…I’m finally on my own. On my own. On my own. Should I not be so tired, I would have paused typing to fist pump. I’ve waited so long, too long, for this…

After a total of twenty-five years between three different men; searching, bending and finally breaking. To walk away from each more tormented and less unsure of who you are than before, its utterly… impossibly… indescribable the release one gains standing on their own… however wobbly their steps may be. 

Every journey holds its inevitable road-blocks and dead ends. All visible roads on my journey of self-discovery appear to head West… to quiet, more humble scenery. A visit home… a long awaited visit home, is in our near future. Its been 4 years since I was home last and nearly as long since I’ve had the opportunity to genuinely engage with the family I’m about to introduce my daughter to. Scared doesn’t begin to express the emotions that come with this.

Why have I barricaded myself so from this visit, you might ask yourself…