volume seventy-two

journey to the motherland

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There are texts flooding in. I ignore them. I do not have the capacity to process the simplicity of reading a text message and the not-so-simple craft of a response.

Except for one. Because it comes through lime green indicating that on international soil of the USA without it costing a small fortune, I can’t reply. But I can read it.

Let me be the first to welcome ya home!!! See ya out front! xx

My hat is the talk of the security line. No violation. No problem. Just compliment after compliment that people love it, and love to tell me.

spy the twizzlers in the side pocket

There are eleven hours that follow of a plane not at capacity, so a passenger moves and we both have a row to ourselves. There are eleven hours of my vegan dinners being delivered to me first as a special meal and my tired hungry mouth scoffing down tofu and mushrooms and potatoes before anyone else gets theirs provided. There are eleven hours of sleeping more than I have ever managed on a plane. Exhaustion.

I watch a movie I know well. If someone can create something this perfect, this exquisite, this heartbreaking, this moving masterpiece, it makes sense that my heart races and my hands shake and I feel a drive that I cannot ignore when I watch it. I head to the bathroom when it ends and wipe my tears as I spot myself in the mirror. I ask myself what I want to lead my life with, with that much passion? What is calling to me? What is it that I want to do that I am in a space right now to make room for? I am living in limbo and when I walk off that plane I can become whoever I want to be. I don’t know, but I am closer to knowing now than I have ever been.

My brief layover consists of a sunrise emerging over emerald green hills and sapphire blue oceans that I can see right through. Roy Orbison plays through my headphones and I turn up the volume as I let it be the soundtrack to this new day, and I feel my tummy leap as we touch down. Locals play ukuleles and serenade us in long lines that don’t seem so long with their company. The humidity hits us in the face and our flight crew passes us in our line and get a round of applause of thanks as they wave us happy travels from here, white teeth bared in grins, white flowers resting behind their ears.

Sitting awaiting the next step of my journey, wiggling my toes, circling my ankles, munching on red licorice at breakfast time because my body tells me otherwise, I hear the slap of thongs on the linoleum ground in rhythm with the swish of loose-fitting boardshorts. My head asks is that my Dad? My uncle? My brother-in-law? My nephew? The unofficial uniform of men in my home country has a soundtrack that tells me I am close to my destination.

I exit the gates at my final stop. Dad and I eventually find each other and he tells me he saw the woman with the hat and the pink suitcase and thought “That’s not her”. We embrace. The first hug in a long time on motherland ground. He tells me I look really, really well. I like hearing that, I like hearing the surprise in his voice and thinking about all the reasons it might be there.

On the train, the conversation moves to some family members who do not have a relationship with him and he tells me he thinks about them every day. I tell him that you never know what can happen, there was once a time he and I never would have been sitting where we are and look at us now. Anything is possible.

We pull up in the driveway of my grandparent’s home and I get to hug my two favourite people that get shorter every time I see them. They claim I am getting taller. Nan, as predicted, asks “What are you? A cowgirl?”. The hat has made a full international journey, and undergone transformation just like I have.

People I love continue to tell me how good I look. The surprise in their voice might also be relief. I know the “good” is coming from within. I know that since the last time I was here I have escaped darkness and put in the work. I am free and they can see that.

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got an idea for a future volume? want to hear my thoughts on something? feel I am not sharing enough? ask me an anonymous question and I will answer it in a future post.

here are three things I struggled with this week:

🪀 My patience. Jetlag + exhaustion from travelling + due to travelling haven’t been to a meeting in a minute = I need a meeting because I am reacting when I would normally walk away.

📅 Freelancing scarcity mindset.

🫂 Hi. Dementia in your loved ones sucks and it never gets easier, just gradually harder.

here are three blessings from this week:

💓 Cuddles. Long, long overdue cuddles.

🪴 Freelancing abundance in options and choices. The old double-edged struggle-blessing sword.

🌈 Being so open to possibility and actually feeling the excitement and belief of that again. 

here are three goals for the coming week:

🎵 Start working on my 2023 Spotify wrapped. Being in Miley Cyrus’ top 0.05% of listeners in 2022 can be beaten. Challenge accepted.

✨ Listen to the friends and the loved ones and the tarot cards and the feeling in my gut that says the world is full of opportunity right now. Those creative things that I have been too busy for? They’re calling my name.

🛣️ Slow down.

here is something I enjoyed this week:

Usually, I would like to plug someone’s work here (or my own if I am feeling cheeky). But this week, I will just say I have been enjoying warm weather, grandparent backhanded compliments, cuddles with my little sister and sweet moments with my Dad.

pics or it didn’t happen:

same, same but different

I love you. I’m so grateful to those who read my substack 🧡 because I really love writing it to you,

LD

xoxo