I boarded a red-eye flight to San Francisco a few weekends ago to have dinner with Michael. No fanfare, no big plans — just some focused time with a friend and his wonderful love, Andrew.
I’m not the kind of girl to make New Year's Resolutions. I’m a three-month goal setter and feel that life changes rapidly, so the practice of reviewing goals often allows me to accomplish more. In late December of last year, I wrote down my desire to make time for the humans who made time for me.
If you get it, you get it.
July through November of 2023 was brutal; between the demise of long-standing friendships, a sick mother, an un-intended hectic work schedule, and a physical breakdown that landed me in the ER — all I wanted was to start life over. During those months, I spent my time actively looking for a crossroad — a reason to make hard decisions and do things differently.
Who does that?
Who actively seeks out an opportunity to make hard decisions?
History will show us that we’re simple humans vying for the love, attention, and validation we missed as children. I suppose it’s why the parenting industry is booming these days; those of us who have children probably don’t want to make the same mistakes we feel our parents did, or don’t want our children to feel misled, misheard, or misjudged. Parents do the best they can with the tools they have — but it’s also natural as an adult to look back and feel that things could have been done differently.
Would it be crazy if I told you that July through November was just me struggling to meet the three aforementioned needs (love, attention, validation)? It all started with a family tragedy.
That situation led me to revisit a childhood trauma, tumble into a fight-or-flight response, put up walls, run towards my security blanket, and make it about anything else other than me. It manifested in growing pains at work, ridiculous blows with loved ones, and an eating disorder.
By November, I was just an 8-year-old girl looking for protection and maybe a little empathy.
And from the most unexpected human, and at the most unexpected time, I received both tenfold.
But please, don’t let me lose you with that revelation — it is a novella for another day. My point in all this is that in the last few months, I’ve been making life far harder than it needed to be because I have been afraid to address the issues I’ve had at home.
And I don’t think I’m the only one.
On the Saturday morning of my weekend in San Francisco, I woke up, had some breakfast in bed, and decided to go for a leisurely walk around the neighborhood. My hotel was situated in the Jackson Square area, full of little shops, cozy bars, and a few art galleries. All the things that please me so.
Up the hill I went, dragging my chucks across the wet sidewalk, wiping the rain out of my face.
So what should I do? Do I stay or do I go? Do I give them an ultimatum? Can a child do that to a parent? What will I do about the other thing? Does he know? Do I take a test first? Do I need therapy for that? Again? I should probably tell my doctor that it’s gotten worse. I don’t know. What if she dies? Can he handle me like this? Do I say something, or should we just act like it never happened? Do I deserve to be here? How did I get here?
As the questions kept rolling, I kept walking, the wind now joining the rain causing my knuckles to ache.
At some point, I reached Broadway, an expansive street that runs through two key areas of San Francisco. To my right, the street led to what felt like the highest peak of the city, and to a neighborhood called Pacific Heights. From there, one would have a somewhat bird’s eye view of the surrounding area, but no real detail of what was happening. To my left, the street led down to the pier and farmers market just situated under the Bay Bridge. One would get a sense of everyday life, filling in all the holes with the details presented.
Do I go up the hill, or down? Do I go back to how things have been, or move forward with zero sense of what will happen?
And then he appeared.
He was a tall white man with a long bushy grey beard, a bright yellow ski jacket, and an oversized camping backpack slung to one shoulder. His eyes were covered by a pair of chipped Oakley sunglasses — the colored ones that all the boys with pickup trucks used to wear in high school — and though he was homeless in all the ways one would think, he was perfectly at home on this road. He approached me with a big smile, stopping just a few inches from my face.
“It’s easier than you think,” he declared as if he had read my mind. “You can go in either direction, where would you like to go, darling?”
Life and its’ timely sense of humor.
“I don’t know. I’m lost and I can’t decide,” I replied with a laugh.
This Rick Rubin of San Francisco gave out the loudest laugh, spread out his arms, and did a little twirl.
“You can do whatever you want. The city is yours and you will never be lost, even when you think you are, you always know the way home,” he said.
And so there I stood, my wet fingertips clutching a now cold coffee, looking at a man society had branded as rootless, remind me of how rooted I was — of how rooted we all were.
What you seek is seeking you.
It’s a saying we hear in the spiritual community — a chant to calm the nerves and bring one back to the center on a yoga mat. I grew up in an environment that taught me the importance of doing “hard things” in order to get respect, attention, and love.
If you are not burning both ends of the stick, I was told, you are not worthy.
But our friend and his bright yellow jacket would beg to differ — bringing attention to this false way of living that only prevents us from seeing our way home in any/every situation. There are no hard decisions to be made and no need to seek out crossroads. Some of the greatest answers to our questions come from the most unexpected of places. Our job is to be open, to listen, and to accept those answers in whatever form they choose to present themselves.
I am no longer seeking out opportunities to make hard decisions. To be easy, to live life with and for the sake of ease is the only thing I want to do this year. I say this not from a place of naivety, but from a place of endurance. Challenges will come, and I expect to get thrown off the path, but I am deeply rooted and will always find my way back home.
And if not, I will have to go back to San Francisco and find the sage white man and his grey beard to impart some more joyful wisdom my way.