Done

Before leaving Utah, there’s a few things I needed to do to feel like I’ve ha a proper goodbye.

I drove to the houses I used to live in, and past my old schools and by old places I used to play.  Then I said goodbye to them.  Valid parts of my childhood, but loaded with abusive memories I needed to let go of.  There was an odd moment when I was speeding up the highway toward Lewiston, Eric Clapton was singing to me through the turmoil of my memories and I realized – I hadn’t actually been to this house in Lewiston in 16 or 17 years, and yet – I was taking all the correct turns through the valley – obscure roads and shortcuts through acres of field that look identical to the other… I knew exactly where I was going and I only lived in that house for about 5 months.

The odd thing is that while I hated my time there, abhorred my abusive stepmother and her horrid kids – I can get back to that house in the middle of fucking nowhere as though I’ve driven there everyday since.  Meanwhile, I get lost trying to get to locations I spent years being happy, joyful and loaded with bliss. 

Why is that?  I have a theory:

My best guess is that I have driven there every day of my life since.  I’ve subconsciously driven to Lewiston everyday somewhere in the back of my mind for 17 years.  I’ve relived the grief like a daily routine at some level of my being so frequently, that I know exactly how to find it – anytime, without even trying.

This is just an example and as I try to find a way to actual Bliss, profound joy and manifestation of dreams I now realize that the simplicity with which I found my old hated house, was a pretty good indicator – that I must replay a lot of things about Utah, about my childhood, about my defunct family history that bogs down the processing of actual things in my present day.  In other words – I’ve held on to so much that the beautiful things here and now are lost under the weight of useless grime that lingers from lifetimes ago.

In stark contrast – When I tried to find the locations of places I played with wild abandon, gathered pine cones, went swimming or even the park where I could literally spend hours wandering barefoot through the grass and feeding ducks in the pond – I couldn’t find them.  I drove in circles swearing and chewing on my lower lip and reaching the point of nervous frustration.  I’d blocked out the route.  Evidently, I don’t spend enough of my time reliving the good things, remembering the beauty of exploring the growth of my childhood in a positive light.

I don’t like what this says about me.  I don’t like what this says about my perception of my childhood.  It was such a powerful observation and such a subtle clue that I’m embarrassed I almost missed it. 

I’m leaving this weekend, back to Portland where I find myself the happiest.  I will visit my family here in Utah hopefully more than once a year and for longer than a week at a time, but from now on – I will no longer empower my history.  It shaped me, yes, but I owe it nothing in return.  I am hereby free of the Utah bubble, free of the obligation to remember lost innocence.   When I drive out on Saturday, I’m done.