WHERE THIS REALLY BEGAN
This is the story I tell people when they ask me how my plan came to be.
In 2006 my (then) fiancé told me that he wanted to move back to the east coast from Arizona because he "missed the seasons". I was not thrilled, but given the fact that he left his cabin in the National Forest of northern New Hampshire (totally off the grid and lacking any kind of insulation) for almost three years because I can’t stand the cold, I felt like it was only reasonable for me to compromise. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Shortly before we moved I was hit by a car while riding my bike home from work. This resulted in 4 broken ribs,a punctured lung and a slight skull fracture. Apparently it also caused a personality shift making me pretty unpleasant to be around. I’ve been told that this is pretty normal in head injury cases and it didn’t last but it made things kind of ugly for a while. I tend to think that this was part of the reason that when we got back to the east coast, my (then) fiancé dumped my ass telling me that he had decided he really wanted to have kids. He knew I didn’t so that was the end of that.
I moved to Jersey City and tried to find work while also trying to get over A. my accident, B.the total upheaval of my life to come back to a place with seasons I didn’t want and C. being dumped by a guy who swore to me he would never want kids.
I was having a hard time landing a permanent job and was temping when my mom asked me if I’d come help her during her recovery from knee surgery. I wasn’t attached to anything at that point so I agreed, despite the fact that my mom and I had a difficult relationship.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
Mom’s surgery went well and the knee was getting better when she developed severe sciatica which ultimately caused her to be bed bound. My six weeks of “helping her recover” turned into seven years of taking care of her till finally she died and I was “free” again…. sort of.
To say that that seven years was difficult is a massive understatement but for whatever reason, I couldn’t manage to leave. I did, however, start thinking about my plan of escape. I had begun to believe that she was going to live forever and I was losing my mind. I was working a ¾ time job and taking care of a difficult, demanding woman who was alternately grateful that I was there and critical of everything I did. She hated everyone I hired to help me/her with the exception of one amazing woman, Rosy, who toughed it out till mom finally accepted her.
In December of 2012 I took my first real vacation since moving in with my mom. I went to Isla Mujeres in Mexico for my birthday and spent two weeks there. It was hell to arrange full coverage for mom but my brother took a chunk of the time and Rosy and another woman did the rest. It was during those two weeks that I decided I would never spend another full winter in the cold and I would find a way to have people take care of my mom for a few months each year.
I made arrangements with my unbelievably amazing boss to work remotely from Mexico. I hadn’t worked out who was going to take care of mom yet but I was determined to make it happen trying to ignore the massive guilt I felt at abandoning her.
My mom died that fall.
I was “free”
I was unanchored
I was a mess
but I had a plan for that year in place and decided to go ahead with it.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
I figured... if I was going to be a mess I could at least be warm.
When I booked the apartment, the owner and I talked about the fact that I was a metal sculptor. She introduced me to some welders on the island and said her son had a TIG welder she thought I might be able to use if I wanted. Also, she said I could use the studio space downstairs to do my work.
I figured... if I was going to be a mess I could be warm and weld.
I could express my grief and confusion through sculpting and, barring that, I could just beat the hell out of metal and use power tools a lot.
The TIG machine thing never happened but during the three months I was there I made the rest of my plan. Go back to the states… clear up mom’s estate…. get a welding machine to take with me back to Mexico….. quit my job…. make stuff out of metal on Isla…. see if I can sell it and then…. take a big ass long trip which might or might not include producing more stuff to sell and document it on my way.
That’s the backstory and now here I am living the plan.
It seems like the right thing to do
but it feels really weird
really
This is the story I tell people when they ask me how my plan came to be.
In 2006 my (then) fiancé told me that he wanted to move back to the east coast from Arizona because he "missed the seasons". I was not thrilled, but given the fact that he left his cabin in the National Forest of northern New Hampshire (totally off the grid and lacking any kind of insulation) for almost three years because I can’t stand the cold, I felt like it was only reasonable for me to compromise. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Shortly before we moved I was hit by a car while riding my bike home from work. This resulted in 4 broken ribs,a punctured lung and a slight skull fracture. Apparently it also caused a personality shift making me pretty unpleasant to be around. I’ve been told that this is pretty normal in head injury cases and it didn’t last but it made things kind of ugly for a while. I tend to think that this was part of the reason that when we got back to the east coast, my (then) fiancé dumped my ass telling me that he had decided he really wanted to have kids. He knew I didn’t so that was the end of that.
I moved to Jersey City and tried to find work while also trying to get over A. my accident, B.the total upheaval of my life to come back to a place with seasons I didn’t want and C. being dumped by a guy who swore to me he would never want kids.
I was having a hard time landing a permanent job and was temping when my mom asked me if I’d come help her during her recovery from knee surgery. I wasn’t attached to anything at that point so I agreed, despite the fact that my mom and I had a difficult relationship.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
Mom’s surgery went well and the knee was getting better when she developed severe sciatica which ultimately caused her to be bed bound. My six weeks of “helping her recover” turned into seven years of taking care of her till finally she died and I was “free” again…. sort of.
To say that that seven years was difficult is a massive understatement but for whatever reason, I couldn’t manage to leave. I did, however, start thinking about my plan of escape. I had begun to believe that she was going to live forever and I was losing my mind. I was working a ¾ time job and taking care of a difficult, demanding woman who was alternately grateful that I was there and critical of everything I did. She hated everyone I hired to help me/her with the exception of one amazing woman, Rosy, who toughed it out till mom finally accepted her.
In December of 2012 I took my first real vacation since moving in with my mom. I went to Isla Mujeres in Mexico for my birthday and spent two weeks there. It was hell to arrange full coverage for mom but my brother took a chunk of the time and Rosy and another woman did the rest. It was during those two weeks that I decided I would never spend another full winter in the cold and I would find a way to have people take care of my mom for a few months each year.
I made arrangements with my unbelievably amazing boss to work remotely from Mexico. I hadn’t worked out who was going to take care of mom yet but I was determined to make it happen trying to ignore the massive guilt I felt at abandoning her.
My mom died that fall.
I was “free”
I was unanchored
I was a mess
but I had a plan for that year in place and decided to go ahead with it.
It seemed like the right thing to do.
I figured... if I was going to be a mess I could at least be warm.
When I booked the apartment, the owner and I talked about the fact that I was a metal sculptor. She introduced me to some welders on the island and said her son had a TIG welder she thought I might be able to use if I wanted. Also, she said I could use the studio space downstairs to do my work.
I figured... if I was going to be a mess I could be warm and weld.
I could express my grief and confusion through sculpting and, barring that, I could just beat the hell out of metal and use power tools a lot.
The TIG machine thing never happened but during the three months I was there I made the rest of my plan. Go back to the states… clear up mom’s estate…. get a welding machine to take with me back to Mexico….. quit my job…. make stuff out of metal on Isla…. see if I can sell it and then…. take a big ass long trip which might or might not include producing more stuff to sell and document it on my way.
That’s the backstory and now here I am living the plan.
It seems like the right thing to do
but it feels really weird
really