Journey Home

Six forty five in the morning.  Pete was cheerful and on time, as usual.  He put my bags in the car and whisked me to the bus station downtown.  Pete and I were both musicians and athletes in former lives, so we always had a lot to talk about.  He was my favorite taxi driver in Bristol (actually, it was a tie between him and Rachel, but I'd already said thank you and good-bye to her), and I was happy to have a chance to chat with him one last time.  Pete schlepped my bags into the station for me, gave me a big hug and drove off into the sunrise.

The bus ride, wait in the airport and successive flight all went thankfully smoothly.  I was headed home, a place that had always been my sanctuary.  And yet, my return was somewhat bittersweet.  The Airbus carrying me homeward was also taking me farther away from the place where I not only found happiness and contentment, but also put me out of my element just enough to make me want to experience more.

Steven was waiting at arrivals in SFO, and drove me home in my broken-down 1985 Honda CRX he's been using (left).  We drove up to an overgrown garden full of weeds (below), and I cursed the gardeners who deserted me last winter without notice.  As we walked up to the house, I heard a thundering noise and high-pitched whine inside.  I braced myself, opened the door, and held onto the stair rails for dear life when two gigantic paws thumped my chest, a large black head butted mine and a big, red tongue slashed across my face.

  "Sit, Piglet!"  

Piglet sat for half a second, ran in circles, whining the whole time, then started jumping again.  She can be a little excitable sometimes.  All the animals, except my Mini cat, who ran away while I was gone, all seemed happy to see me.  Mini always waited for me in her corner perch in my office every night, and now she's gone.  I'm devastated.

I picked up the neighborhood newsletter.  The last large undeveloped plot of land in town is being developed!  Arrggghhh!  Yes, the Bay Area has housing issues due to a growing population (which irks me because population growth is the problem, not lack of housing), but town councils everywhere are rubber-stamping poorly planned developments because all they see are dollar signs.  In the meantime, they are not planning for things like efficient transportation for the masses of people who will be living here or the education of their children.  I'm disheartened.  Before I left home, I'd put an effort into speaking out about development issues through several neighborhood groups, and I feel like those efforts were useless.  I think a lot of the residents here feel that way now.

Steve barbecued that night.  As we ate, he kept asking if I was okay.  Even after I insisted I was just tired from the long day of travel, he looked worried.  In the coming week, three other people kept asking the same question.  It was too difficult to tell them how my life at home is missing something, so I pleaded jet lag and made an effort to seem happier.

I created ltljpnzgrl on 360 as a way to work through uncertainties I faced in hitting my midlife crisis, many of which were insecurities carried over from my youth (I migrated to Multiply because of the interesting people I met).  Those insecurities led to many bad decisions as a young woman, and almost as many regrets.

It seems I'm still in flux and still working through issues, although I had moments this summer that allowed me to forget them.  I discovered that when I was out of my comfort zone in a completely new environment, I felt alive again, and eager to face what lay ahead, rather than dwell on mistakes of the past.  In coming home, I regressed somewhat.  I want that good feeling back.  I think it is time for me to make major changes in my life.  I just need a plan...

Leaving town

It's 1:00 am.  The evening rain cooled the heavy summer air to a comfortable level.  Yes, the temperatures finally rose here in my final week or so in this island nation.

What will happen to the ficus I found near-dead in the garage when I arrived?  I pulled it out, threw some coffee grounds and water on it, pruned it back, and watched as tiny green dots appeared on the brown twigs one morning.  In a few more days, they evolved into slivers, then tiny spears and finally, full-fledged leaves unfurled in the sunlight.  With no one to care for it, the tree I've come to regard as mine will probably dry out again and die.

Not one to leave behind a mess, I cleaned the house and did my laundry this weekend.  Sorting through my clothing, a familiar scent wafted off my sundress.  I closed my eyes, brought it to my face, inhaling deeply and saw a grassy hill under a clear sky, a quiet inn tucked away in the hills, fragrant herbs surrounded by vineyards, eyes that at times seemed clear blue, others stormy gray, but always full of expression and passion.  I felt the warmth of a summer evening along the Mediterranean, the cool kiss of mountain air as I gazed out an open window into the darkness, the reassuring hand that steadied me on cobbles slicked by rain, the warm embrace that made everything else in the world cease to exist for me, if only for awhile.  Not wanting to lose those moments, I decided not to wash that dress.

And the job?  I hadn't accomplished what I'd hoped I would this summer, but my goals diverged from those of my boss.  My time was consumed by odd jobs and errands that took precedence.  My brain is atrophying due to lack of challenging stimulation.

This summer I learned not to trust people who possess an overbearing sense of entitlement, and to trust my instincts when I sense something isn't quite right about a situation, things I already "knew," but hadn't really experienced.  A painful lesson I am still working through.

This summer I learned to feel.  For the first time ever, I didn't analyze the life out of a situation, I just let myself live in the moment and opened myself to whatever feelings flowed through me.  For the first time ever, I felt deep passion and attachment at a level of which I didn't think I was capable.  And for the first time ever, I understand deep in my heart the meaning of the adage 'tis better to have loved and lost...  even though I'm desperately fighting the 'lost' part.

Just a mindless meandering

Have you ever been so inspired by someone that they brought out qualities in you that you never knew you had and made it possible for you to try things you never thought you would?

Have you ever been so infatuated that you seriously contemplated throwing all caution to the wind and doing things you would normally consider to be stupid... and possibly did some of those things?

Have you ever been so obsessed that one person or thing has dominated your every waking (and sleeping) thought?

And have you ever cried yourself to sleep because you knew that one of the best things to ever stumble into your life would pass back out again far too soon?

My name

Three out of four of my grandparents were from Japan (the fourth was born in California, but she's also of Japanese heritage).  When I was born, my parents, apparently in a fit of cruelty, named me Tracey, a name of Celtic origin, which means "warrior like."  Why was that cruel?  One could say my mom rued the day she named me, because I've always been an argumentative pain in the ass, but no, it's weirder than that.

In Japanese, there is neither a "TR" sound nor a "SEE" sound.  Only one out of three of my grandparents could pronounce my name (my maternal grandfather had passed years before I was born)!  The closest approximation of my name my maternal grandmother (and several other immigrant relatives) could do was based on the Japanese syllables for:  tsu - re - i - shi, which came out sounding something like "Tsreish" or "Tsreishee" (hence, Rei, one of many nicknames I've used through the years).

Not that I don't like my name, but you'd think my parents would have named me something my relatives could pronounce, like Tara or Sara.

Relaxing in Bath

Last week, my boss yelled at me for not going out more and having fun while I'm in the UK.  Then he assigned a bunch of menial, time-consuming tasks that guaranteed I'd be working long hours and would therefore be too tired to go out and have fun for at least a couple weeks.

When the weekend rolled around, I worked half a day Saturday to catch up on routine menial tasks, then headed to the mall for a coffee grinder, french press and a couple usb broadband modems.  I spent the night trying to get one of the modems to work with my Mac -- the sales guy said the new dongles don't require Mac users to download drivers... then sold me one of the old modems that require it.  AND the files on Three's UK website were either not working or obsolete.  The tech support person told me to download the files on the Ireland website, then call back to obtain a code I'd need for installation.  Programmers like making life difficult for Mac users.

I made it a point to try and relax on Sunday.  I slept in until 8:00, ground the coffee beans I'd brought from home, made coffee, and actually sat down to drink it and eat a bowl of cereal.  I headed to Bath, wandered the streets a bit (I did the tour of the Roman baths the last time I was there), then signed on for the 2 hour spa package at Thermae Spa.

I changed, slipped into the pool, let the current carry me around, and thought about the tasks I need to do this week and the order in which I'd do them.  I realized I was thinking about work and tried to clear my mind and let it wander.  It meandered to my bank account and credit card transactions and how I need to check those to make sure everything is okay, because I have the wrong version of Quicken installed on my notebook and can't download that information.  Damn, that's not a good line of thought, either!

Okay, maybe it's because I have to work too hard to stay afloat in the water.  I headed upstairs and walked into the Lavender steam room.  Lavender's supposed to be calming.  I thought about how my job evolved into mostly unchallenging menial tasks and started to reevaluate my future.  While I do need to think about my path, it's also not something I should think of when I'm trying to relax.  Damn again.  I tried sitting, lying, deep breathing, but my brain wouldn't stop, and then I noticed others were looking at me strangely and scooting away from me.  I headed to the changing rooms, showered, dressed and was out of there with a half hour yet to go on my package.

On the streets again, this time in search of food, which allowed me to divert my attention for a time.  I had dinner at a little vegetarian restaurant, then headed back to the train station, stopping in a bookstore on the way to buy a book on English architectural styles to read while waiting for my train.  Even though I couldn't relax much, at least I was tense in a beautiful town.

Oh, I did treat the interns to dinner at the Bradley Stoke pub last Thursday.  They had bungee jumping for 50 pounds a pop.  I wasn't about to spend that much money to jump, but it was fun to watch.