I had something of a breakthrough the other day. Yes, I have a lot of those, a consequence of having handicapped myself initially to bring more excitement to my later years. (Think of it as exercise in search of work.) So I feel pretty good. It really is different not being angry and depressed, and I’ve been kind of lost at sea—but I have lots to do now! Who knew?
That must be why someone mentioned Port Townsend, Washington, one of my occasional log-cabin-home-in-the-sky fantasy relocations of the last few years, and got me rolling again. It is strange, though. The place came up twice in the same conversation today about different people in Taos. Even our local buyer’s agent, a long-time resident and desert rat, visited the place recently and liked it.
Every time this happens I get jacked up in a certain way. The thrill (?) of starting over, maybe, or busting out of jail. Meet new people, learn new things, have new adventures. One envisions opportunity. The water flows where it will go and Gabriel blows his horn. There are many different prisons though, some of which we carry in our heads.
The truth is, there’s nothing in my present life configuration that clouds, more people, and ten grand down the drain for moving would settle for the better. (Put me on the water in a wooden boat, and maybe then we’ll see.) I’d certainly like to go there, though, and a thousand other places in between.