This is Part Two in the Journey to Truth Series.
My journey began in late June of 2018 on a hike at Point Lobos National Preserve in Santa Cruz, California. As I walked along the oceanfront trail lined with brambled branches and tangles of wild flowers, so stunning in all of its perfectly imperfect glory, I heard the calling of the sea. Softly, at first, and then louder. More urgent. And finally she spoke.
It is time to leave.
I skidded to a stop and listened again, this time more intently. Because surely I had imagined the voice. I mean, right? Except I hadn’t imagined it.
It is time to leave. It is time to leave. It is time to leave.
My heart pounded like the surf below. Because seriously, it is not every day that you receive a direct message from above. But what did it mean? It is time to leave? I wasn’t sure if She meant that it was time to leave my job or my marriage. I was mildly unhappy in my marriage, but I was wildly unhappy in my career. I hoped it was the latter.
I awaited further instruction, and when none came I continued along the trail. As I walked I thought about the three serious intestinal infections I’d had in the past five months. About the surgery I would need to remove the offending portion of my colon. Because the next infection could cause my intestine to rupture. And I was not ready to die. So not ready. Because the music inside of me?
It hadn’t even begun to play.
And I knew that, in order to avoid surgery, I would need a major overhaul of my life. My entire life. But we had a plan. I would work for another year in order to save enough money to pay my share of the expenses until I could collect social security. And I mean, it was only a year. I could do it. I could.
Six days later, on July 4th, I pulled into my usual parking space at work. Shut off the engine. And cried. I’d cried nearly every morning for four months. But this cry felt different. It felt more…urgent. Laced with a longing I could no longer deny. The longing to be free. Free to live life on my terms.
An hour later I sat before my boss and slid the sheet of paper I’d just typed up across the desk. As I waited for his reaction, a parade of emotions marched through me. Relief, fear, exhilaration, fear, joy, fear. But when he looked up at me, a slow grin stretched across his face. “Happy Independence Day,” he said, “I’m gonna miss the hell out of you.”
Four months later, on the first of November, on a brilliant fall day, I said goodbye to the people I had come to love, and a company that had been so great to me for sixteen years. And then I left my old life behind.
I was finally free.
A week later my husband and I were on a plane to Northwest Montana. It was the last on the list of potential places to retire we’d begun making nearly ten years before. Places that included our must haves: mountains, a large body of water, no humidity in the summer, and was budget friendly.
As we approached the town of Polson, we were gobsmacked by the beauty. Snowcapped mountains and wide open spaces that went on forever. I could see myself here. Feel myself here.
Our first stop was a parcel of land in a new development on the southern part of Flathead Lake. The 1.11 acre lot boasted sweeping views of the Mission Mountains. It was breathtaking. I looked at my husband and then turned my gaze skyward. Overhead, a bald eagle soared.
It felt like a sign. One that said, welcome home.
I closed my eyes. It was quiet. So quiet. I pictured the house we would build. Views from every room. Here I would find myself again, find my inspiration…my muse. And I would finally finish my ninth novel, and then I would write the next one and the one after that.
And we’d have four seasons. Just like I had growing up in the Midwest. Mild summers spent on the lake, fall and the bounty of colors and leaves just waiting to be crunched, and enough snow to decorate the mountain tops and allow us to snow-shoe right out our front door. Oh, and cozy nights by the fire. What could be better?
And here, my husband and I would find our way back to each other. And we would live happily ever after. Because that’s how life is supposed to work. Change everything that isn’t working and life will rise up to meet you.
I mean, right?
So we did it. We bought our very own piece of paradise. Four months later we set out for a shiny new life filled with new adventures. To live out the vision we had created for ourselves in this place called Montana.
And the thousand (million?) mile journey begins.
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