I haven't intended it as a wandering life, but it's been that. Some of my earliest memories are living with my family at a monastery in Bethlehem, nomadic Bedouin herding their sheep across the monastery grounds. They felt foreign and kin at once, and I was only five-years-old.
Wandering like this, you get interpreted certain ways. Running from something. Looking for something. Idealistic. Unable to commit. I'm mostly finished with others' reads of my life though, and I'm trying to be finished with thinking I've got anyone else pinned.
I'm running from stagnancy, although "running" doesn't seem quite right. I sit still more often than I run. I want to be very, very still, and I don't want to be stagnant. In the morning, drinking tea, I watch robins and juncos and stellar jays and towhees. I watch and I listen and when I am completely alone I come to as few conclusions as I possibly can. If there's anything I want to slough off it's the....the thing that makes me un-tender. Rigidity. Certainty.
But that's not true, not really. It is, and it isn't. I'm cultivating ferocity and tenderness. Do not fuck with me.
In October, I'll be leaving Berkeley and going--elsewhere. I'd like to go by foot. Camel wouldn't be so bad, or elephant, or horse. No joke whatsoever. How odd to live in a land this vast where it truly would be impossible to travel by animal for far at all. Why is that? I don't understand anything at all.
So this is my new blog. Welcome. I'm making a new batch of kombucha, which feels so cliche-Berkeley that I laugh. You who will read these first posts know me well already so I won't say anything by way of introducing myself. My time with Ariel is closing. I'm relieved. I'll miss her greatly, but I don't want to stay any longer. These two years with her though, these two years in Berkeley, they have been two of the best years of my life, hands down.