A Hill I Am No Longer Willing to Die On

For the last three years I have fought a bitter battle against my life, or at least against the geographic setting of my life. It was a painful attempt to define myself outside of my life as it is now. I clung to the desire that I would get a(ny) job somewhere, anywhere other than here. And once no longer here I could finally be me, who I really am. As though “where” defined “who”.

It has taken a long time for me to remember that place does not equate to being. I must be where I am. Sure, there are geographic places where I feel more comfortable, places where how I live and desire to live my life is normal. Places where: “compost” and “worm bin” are not followed by a question mark and confused looks; CSAs and buying local are a way of life; track homes are not the norm; and driving and traffic do not define one’s life choices. In fighting and cursing here I sowed disdain and resentfulness, and reaped frustration, bitterness, and isolation.

Over the last several months, slowly, almost imperceptibly, I began relinquishing bits and pieces of my life that I had protected from here. I began giving myself to here; allowing myself to be here. In doing so I realized that where I am, here, is more than just something to endure until I can move away; here is good. While I cannot say I love here, I know that good people, beauty, joy, and hope reside here. And that is a here I can be.

I fought this place. I was bruised, scratched, cut, and broken. My blood dripped onto the ground, mixing with the earth.
I am a part of this. I am a part of here.
I am here.
I am.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . During my writing hiatus I created several 8tracks mixes: Autumnal, I-80, A Breather from the Holidays and . . . . May these be sweet music to your ears.

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