Making Life Decisions

The last place I lived that I thought would likely be permanent or at least very long-term, was when I moved to Los Angeles. Or maybe I actually didn’t consciously think about it but perhaps I presumed. I landed there, loved the sunshine, didn’t notice anything missing and made my way. Four years later, I basically was expunged from the city. It didn’t feel like my own doing. I wasn’t sick of LA, nothing seemed wrong. But, the city kept telling me to go, to leave. I don’t know how to explain this except that it was a deep feeling in my soul, a nudge that eventually became a shove, where I simply couldn’t ignore it any more. This happened quickly, within a matter of weeks, and suddenly I was “mobile,” or a “digital nomad,” or whatever you’d like to call it.

It’s been 5 months shy of 7 years since then and, I am exhausted. I can’t even tell you the amount of places I’ve slept, or “lived.” The amount of new streets I’ve walked on. The amount of planning and decision-making. Here I am, this long in, and I feel so done with it. Yet the next decision eludes me. I am longing for the forceful shove the city of angels gave me, or it could be a pull – I don’t care – just something that tells me where to land. Where to rest for the foreseeable future. Where to start to settle in so I can have the things I long for at the moment: some ritual, a space where my energy is predominant, where I don’t have to plan or worry about where I will stay or go next so that there’s room for creativity, for time with source and myself.

I’m in Seattle now. It is a candidate, but I don’t feel that pull. I feel the pull of my desire to lay roots, but not the pull of the city. I don’t like hot weather, but I don’t like endless months of cloud cover and rain either. I’m nervous that the city will drain me and my spirit will feel sluggish under the gray sky. A cool, breezy, sunny day here is amazing, but I know I’m near the time of year where the weather is best, and having spent years in Victoria and Vancouver in British Columbia, I know the days between November and May are rough.

So, how does one make a decision? I prefer to wait until my heart gets the message, but right now I can’t hear any message. Generally I would take this to mean that it’s therefore time to just get another temporary sublet until I know. But even as I think that thought, I feel ill at the idea of extending this high-class vagabond state of being. So, I am lamenting in this essay, and maybe asking the messengers and masters of this universe to send me a message: Please talk to my heart, and tell me what I’m meant to do next.

I’ll be waiting, I’ll be listening.