I’m having one of those frustrating days I knew I would have every now and again. Actually sooner and more frequently now that plans didn’t go accordingly. It would’ve taken longer as I would’ve been enrapt in our little love story and thought it was funny.
Anyway, the car culture is really getting on my nerves. I have the use of my parent’s car under certain conditions, which is incredibly restrictive. We’re all used to me visiting here and only needing the car to go to my sister’s, cousin’s or my Aunt and Uncle’s house. No overnights, no long distance drives. Since I only came back for 7-10 days once a year for the last 19 years, they were my main focus and I didn’t need to see anyone else. Now it’s different. It’s frustrating. It’s worse than being a teenager because I had my own car then. The only difference is that back then there were no taxis or buses. There still is no public transport in my hometown, but at least I now have the option to spend a fortune on Ubers if I’m really desperate. The decision about my relationship was taken out of my hands and now my freedom is restricted. The frustration is overwhelming. It sends my head spinning again. I know what I need to do to feel better, I’ve been doing it on my own for years now. I’m in unfamiliar territory and have to find creative ways to do that now and I’m just emotionally exhausted. I don’t want to be creative, I don’t want to have to think because I can’t. I just want everything to be different. How it was. How we planned it. None of this would’ve been a problem.
I have kind offers of people offering to pick me up for a high school reunion. It’s ok I said, I can get the car for a three minute drive. Yeah, I can’t believe I’m writing it myself. I wouldn’t have dreamed of driving that distance two weeks ago. I probably would’ve walked, but if I was late, I would’ve taken a bus. One person wanted to pick me up so she didn’t arrive alone, I said ok but you’ll have to drop me off too. She expressed concern about what would happen if she wanted to duck out earlier than me. I had to stifle my laugh. It’s called legs, I have them and they can walk for much longer than the 20 minutes it would take me. It drives me crazy that people are so attached to their cars and unaware of their legs. But it’s the culture here, it’s society’s fault, not any one person’s.
When people ask me how I’m so skinny at the reunion I’m going to say. Simple. I walk, try it.
Then there’s how we make beds. Over here there’s a duvet with no cover, a top sheet and warm blanket on top of that if it’s not summer. In Europe, the top sheet is redundant because they use duvet covers and that’s what’s taken off and washed weekly instead of having a single sheet to get twisted up in during restless sleep. This means that having to untangle the sheet in the morning to make the bed is unnecessary, saving precious morning time.
So…I’m going to do what I do best. Run away. A friend of mine needed a cook/stew on a boat he’s working on in New England. Him and I have always gotten along, I know what it’s like to work with him. I’m ignoring the fact that there are four adults, two five year olds and one six year old and only three crew members with me doing two of the jobs on my own. Oh yeah, and I don’t like cooking. “So now that I’ve told you how crazy and chaotic the job is, do you still want it?” he asks, “Absolutely. I’m going through a crisis right now. I’m up for anything.” I’ve never sailed that part of the world and it’s a new place with new opportunities. Plus I’ll have a home, a job and a crew car so all of those worries will be pacified until August. New ones will crop up, like did I cook the pasta right for an Italian, but they are much simpler to deal with.
That my friends is how you deal with your life getting turned upside down. Stop messing with cars and tangled sheets and get on a boat.
As I patter away at the keyboard, the sounds of the waves of Lake Michigan lapping against the rocks on the shore fill my ears with peace and ease the pain of my broken heart. I am so grateful to have been given this space. The friend I’m staying with has gone through a similar situation and she said this is what she needed, a place of respite, peace and healing and was so happy to offer it to someone in need.
She surprised me with last minute news that she would get some time off from work, so we’ve been chattering away about relationships, high school and life in general. It’s been soul nourishing. I spent so long trying to run away from my roots, that I never realised how comforting it is, especially during challenging times.
In true high school style, my parents dropped me off to meet her. When I walked into her office, I felt as though I was an atheist walking into a Church waiting to get struck by lightning. It had been a long time since I was in an office space. Don’t get me wrong, it was a beautiful office, “Thanks, it should be, I practically live here,” she said. I may have no idea what my future looks like right now, but one thing was for sure. Being a slave in a box was not on the cards. I shuddered at the thought of going back to an office job and remained quiet so that she could finish her work as soon as possible and we could leave a place I was no longer aligned with.
Although I had seen photos of her new house, I was struck by the beauty of it. She only recently moved in and despite not having any time off, she has already made this such a warm and inviting home. We pulled out camping chairs and spent the rest of the evening chattering away as I drank my Bud Light (much to her horror) and the waves of the lake carried our stories and hurt away. Many people ask me where home is and for the longest time, I never had an answer. I started saying, where I feel safe, relaxed and happy. Here, I feel home.
Today I woke up ready to let go. Not just of him, but of our future together, of the cutest most romantic love story of all times, of my future back near my town near my family and of my fear of “What next?” My friend asked me what I was going to do and I looked at her, shrugged my shoulders and said, “I have no idea. I just know that this was the first step in getting me to where I’m supposed to be, so I’m just going to listen and be open.” It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it gives me hope the pain will end.
I met my cousin for dinner last night. I last saw her in February, but it always seems like too long since I’ve seen her, so we were looking forward to a long catch up.
The restaurant is wine tasting in the front, restaurant in the back. We walked up to the reception and the host was wearing one of those headphone microphone speaker things. We tell her we have a reservation. “Have you been here before?” Yes “Any food allergies?” No “Is it a special celebration tonight?” We look at each other and start laughing, since when did getting seated at a restaurant start feeling like an interview? We said no and looked at her smiling. She remained deadpan serious and asked the last question I couldn’t even pay attention to because I was laughing. She was either having a bad day, or got this reaction numerous times and was no longer amused. I would lose my sense of humour if I had to host an inquisition every time someone came in.
We sat down and had a private joke about the interrogation. Before we could even finish the sentence or fully place our bum cheeks on the seat, someone else came up to us asking what we wanted to drink. The menus had just been placed in front of us, we gave each other a “Seriously?” look and ordered water. Then, “Would you like complimentary pretzel bread?” Yes, ok, they left and I continued the conversation I had started in the car park, sorry, parking lot. Twenty seconds in, “Hello my name is Cindy and I’ll be your server tonight. Have you eaten here before?” She asks again. Then we get the specials listed, ask if we want more drinks. She walks off, I said, “Oh my god, are we even going to be able to talk to each other tonight?” with a laugh. I continue the story, the water comes, “Anything else to drink right now?” LEAVE US ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I screamed in my head. We both sat in silence reading the menu because we knew we would not be left alone until the food and drinks were ordered.
This was complicated by the fact that they had, no joke, about 75 menu items. During the 15 minutes we were deliberating about which one of the five things that looked really good we were going to choose, the server came up twice to ask if we were ready or had any questions. If my cousin would’ve gone to the bathroom, I would’ve booked the next flight out of here. It now made sense why Americans complain so much about the service in Europe.
Just as it took me a while to get used to the restaurant culture in Europe to keep all plates on the table until the last person is finished, I now have to get used to them taking the plate while the last bite is still in your mouth. After 19 years, I find it rude and like I’m being rushed. I just have to remind myself that’s the culture here and I am entitled to take my time.
We were sipping our wine, still having plenty to catch up about when she asked if we wanted anything else. We ordered another wine, which came quickly and about five sips in, she asked if we wanted anything else. “No, we’re good,” we replied and she said, “Will the bill be separate or together?” Again, something that used to get under my skin a bit when I lived in Europe, it takes forever to get the bill. However, I’ve grown accustomed to it and love that I feel as though I’m a valued customer who can stay as long as I need to in order to digest my food, enjoy the ambiance and order more drinks if I change my mind. This country is about money making. The longer we sit at a table not ordering, the less tables, tips and food revenue they will get. I get it, but I do miss leisurely meals where we’re left alone until we signal to the server we want something else.
We managed to complete our initial catch up, but I had to use the restroom before I left, so my cousin had already left. I wandered around the car park wondering where my parent’s car was and trying not to cry that I just wanted something familiar after having my world turned upside down. After walking up and down not recognising the car, I finally remembered pressing the unlock button would wake it up. Turns out it was the first car I went to, I just didn’t think to press unlock. Oops.
I woke up in a great mood yesterday excited about all the potential new opportunities that await me. I was looking forward to meeting up with one of my homecoming dates, who was also a good friend back in high school. I briefed him on the situation and he provided quite a different take on it. I like getting different perspectives. Probably none of which are true in reality, but when something doesn’t make sense, our monkey brains try hard to make sense of it. At the end of the day, we’re all just human beings trying to get through life as easily as we can and sometimes we unintentionally hurt others trying to make ourselves feel better. I’m guilty of that, it’s human behaviour.
Anyway, I digress. He told me I looked amazing, always nice to hear. I’m still revelling in the fact that I fit into my old prom dress from 28 years ago. He was curious to know the gossip, so I filled him in, with interjections of other stories of things that happened when “Alex” and I dated at 12. I of course had to start at the very beginning. He didn’t know we had such a long history. It’s fascinating hearing about an era of life you remember from another person’s experience. I told him how I broke up with Alex, for another boy of course, and he said that he had never met this enigma of a boy until he was in his 20’s, but his legend carried on years after he moved from our town. He couldn’t believe that after all those years of thinking he was the coolest guy in the world, he was an arrogant tiny short guy. I laughed. I remember him being short, but we were 12.
After that part was over, we filled each other in on people we still talk to, on what we’d been up to the last 20 years, and I showed him some old photos of us I found and we laughed. At the end he said, “I don’t think childhood romance feelings ever go away. If you think about it, when we’re so young, our emotions are so strong and pure and those feelings can never truly go away. He’ll be back” Whilst it gave me hope the love story could still continue (not what I need), it also explained how quickly Alex and I fell for each other and how easy and comfortable it was for both of us. You may not see someone for a while, but it doesn’t mean those feelings disappear. And let me tell you, I wrote about Alex in my journal for MONTHS afterwards about how I was sad I broke up with him, how much I loved him and how none of the boys were like him. Alex was hot and cold with me at 13, although I did leave him for another boy, so understandable. This time I uprooted my life for us and it never even began, I didn’t deserve it. Maybe it’s some sick childhood revenge – haha. I’ve definitely heard of weirder things in my career.
My saviour friend invited me for drinks with her and a couple of her teacher friends. School finished at 3.36 and they were at the bar by 4.00. I love their style. The bar has been around since my parents were young and the outside sure shows that. As I walked up to the door, a waft of old grease greeted my nostrils. It’s not an uncommon scent around here. In fact if someone asked me to describe Wisconsin from an olfactory perspective I would say, “Manure and fried food.” It was all you can eat Friday fish fry, so they were warming up the grease for the regulars to eat endless fried frish. I was there before my friend and the bar stools were full of bums, so I perched at a table watching the world go by. Despite it being just before 4, there were some very tipsy people in there. The average age was around 70 with some youngsters in the mix. Everyone seemed to know each other and the conversations were jovial, upbeat and full of laughter. I’m sure that will change around 6pm if they keep on drinking as they are, but it was pleasant.
The owners had their son/grandson counting squares of butter in buckets and putting them on the tables. He must’ve been about 10 and it was obvious he felt very important. The sense of family and community is something I grew up with and really miss, so it made me smile to see it still exists here. Everyone is so friendly here and always wanting to strike a conversation, no matter how long or short it is. Being shy, I always found that difficult, but now I find it endearing as I’m confident to have the boundaries to walk away or say I don’t want to talk.
The teacher gang arrived and we went up to the bar and ordered the cheapest round of drinks I’ve had in years. Two bottles of beer and a Moscow Mule for $11. No wonder why the bar was so busy and people were so drunk. I noticed that people were sat at the bar with stacks of cash in front of them. I don’t know why, as they had full drinks. Maybe to say they were there for a while, it was the tip pile, or they were just trying to show off it was Friday and they got paid. I forgot to ask what that was all about, it will remain a mystery.
As dingy and dark as the bar was, Americans do one thing right. Toilets. I guess I should say restrooms or bathrooms now. I opened the door and I couldn’t believe how modern and clean it was. It was the only thing that had been remodelled since they opened. They even had automatic soap dispensers, taps and paper towel holders. I was well impressed.
There was a lot of teacher talk, which I expected as I too talk shop with my coworkers. It opened with a story of one of the teachers, who’s about to retire, saying that she gave her students a calm lecture on life lessons and what it means to be a friend, take responsibility for behaviour and how to survive high school (they’re 8th graders). Someone had done something bad and no one was confessing. Well, after her lecture, the kid confessed and another kid apologised for how disruptive he had been in her class. Her and I both had tears in her eyes and I said, “That’s how all teachers should be and I’m so sad they aren’t all like you.” It’s not just about the subject matter, it’s about dealing with emotions and how to be a kind human being. Let’s face it, kids spend more time at school than at home, so who’s going to teach them that stuff if teachers don’t? I enjoyed hearing the trials, tribulations and joys of all aspects of teaching, including how it is working with other teachers who aren’t so passionate. I was truly inspired by these three wonderful teachers and what a positive difference they were making.
This was affirmed when three students rode past the bar (we were outside) on their bikes and they stopped with excitement to wave at all of them. After they left, they said, wow, they aren’t that nice in class. Being a teacher is kind of like a celebrity. I remember when I was in 8th grade and we found out one of our teachers also worked at a bar and we were like, whoa, she’s so bad and so cool. Maybe it’s the same if they’re sat at a bar too? Two of the teachers were from the area and it was fun to see how many people walked past that stopped and said hi. I enjoyed listening to the stories of how they knew each other. It was a real sense of community. Then it was time to go because they had their families to get back to. I was supposed to have a family to go back to as well, and now I don’t. All of the sudden my heart fell.
No need to lecture me on how I should be grateful for having my parents still on this Earth and to be able to stay at their house, this I know. I’ve spent a lot of the week trying not to beat myself up about how much I don’t want to be here. It just wasn’t the plan and whilst I know more than anyone that life can change in an instant for better or worse, it takes time to adjust. I took the country roads home listening to music the radio still plays from when I was in high school with a sad heart. I started listing off things I was grateful for, but not really feeling it. I told myself it’s ok to feel this way, it’s not even been a week. It won’t last forever. One day I’ll get what I ask for, I always do. Does anyone have a fast forward button…
First of all, an update on yesterday. The driver licence scenario did not go as planned… As it had been more than 8 years, they wanted me to take the theory and practical test all over again. “No thanks,” I said. I already have a valid driver licence. She actually told me that after I passed the theory and before I passed the practical, I could only drive with someone who’s over 18 in the car. I wanted to say, “Or I could drive as I have been and just show the police my Spanish driver licence and all would be fine.” (eye roll). Anyway, it was easier than in Spain in that I didn’t have to cut off my right testicle and wait 30 centuries before actually getting an appointment to be told that I had to go for a test all over again. Then the same process with cutting off the other testicle for the theory – oh yeah and reading a book on how to be one of the worst driver’s in Europe. She offered a slot to take the test then and there. It’s just a sign I won’t be here long so I politely declined and walked out.
I was in a reflective mood yesterday. I woke up as usual thinking about the whole situation in disbelief, but forced myself out of bed at the 5 am jet lag wake up, to meditate and stretch as I did nearly every morning at home. I have a spontaneous and chaotic life, but my mornings have always been precious to me. That’s why I don’t usually do guest work on boats. My mornings are sacred and the routine keeps me grounded.
I reached out to some of the guys I was close to in high school who used to build me up when I was going through something tough (probably like a run in my tights). One has lived here for a while and I discovered that another one moved back in the area. So we’re meeting for coffee today. I smugly told him a brief synopsis of the situation and the person involved “No shit,” was his response. Yes, I have moved into the angry phase and am revelling in telling those who used to be close to me the name and the story. I also want to keep my dignity and grace through the whole situation, so no name calling, no analysing of behaviours, just pure facts, which are pretty cruel and rude. My philosophy is that if you’re worried about others finding out what you’ve done to someone because it makes you look bad, you shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Not my problem. Am I supposed to lie about why I came back here and why I’m not staying?!?!?
Anyway, as a result of my high school chicas who have already been holding me up, and reaching out to the guys yesterday, I realised something. That the four girls who are messaging me nearly daily and offering their homes to me for some space and peace, are the same four girls who got me through my shit in middle school and high school. Even as I type this revelation now, I have tears in my eyes. How lucky am I? I have been in contact with one of them since high school, but the other three have been on and mostly off contact for the last 25 years. That’s what real friendship is. I never in a million years would’ve thought they would be the ones supporting me through this. All of the sudden growing up in a small town didn’t seem so bad. They still had my back, they knew who messed me around and it was still the girl gang that was carrying me through this. I’m very touched. I’m also excited to meet up with the guys and have them tell me how wonderful I am and how stupid he is (smug smug).
Then there was the bike ride. Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually quite shy. I had aspirations to be an actress, but stage fright killed any hope of that, so I used my talents to pretend that I’m outgoing. I have to do it every time I get a new job on a boat too, it’s exhausting. Anyway, with a dry mouth and racing heart, I cycled the five minutes to the meeting point. I pulled up to the group of cars that had bikes on the back of it and flashed my get out of jail card free smile. “Hello!” I said confidently. “You must be Sarah,” replied the guy I had been emailing. “Yep, that’s me!” I was extra nervous because I saw the average speeds of their rides, which were in mph, but my Straava is in kmh and I thought, oh it’s the same. Well just before I left, my Dad asked me and then I saw that I was below average. Oh well, at least I’ll start riding with people anyway. There were two “slow” people who wanted to get a head start, so I went off with them.
It was awakening cycling through streets that I used to drive through as a teenager. I wouldn’t have dreamed of being caught dead on a bike back then. That was only for losers, I tried so hard not to be one. Not always successful, but I did my best. As we cycled the long straight roads, I thought “oh yeah, this was on our weed route” (this is why parents should let their children smoke at home – we did this almost every day!!). “That’s where so and so lived, that was so and so’s farm.” “Oh that farm isn’t there anymore, this street is new, that house is gone.” What used to be the rich areas back then look small and homely compared to the grand million dollar mansions that are popping up everywhere. The population went from 3000 when I was growing up to 16,600 today.
I was pleased to see that cycling etiquette and gestures are the same here as they are in Mallorca. I had a moment of panic when we first set off that they would make gestures I didn’t understand and fall into a big dark pothole in the road breaking numerous bones, never to walk properly again. The drivers we encountered today were much more patient and friendlier than in Mallorca. At a major intersection on a 55 mph road, cars on both sides actually stopped to let myself and another guy pass even though they had the right of way. I was so shocked! The roads were busier and the cars were faster because they’re all straight and long so great to speed on. As we had our post spin drink, they guys talked of stories of coal trucks stopping at intersections and purposely dropping coal on the road in front of them. Ok, maybe not so nice after all. That was never an issue in Mallorca. Just people honking, swearing and giving the finger. Hopefully they’ll be so mesmerised by Snowy and my bum my path won’t be littered with coal.
The other cyclists were nice and friendly and I didn’t want to go back to my parents just yet, so I stayed and had a drink with them. We talked about bikes and how my hometown and Madison has been changing and of course they had lots of questions for the newbie (me). It felt kind of nice connecting with my roots again. Not for long, but maybe I just need to do that now and again to stay grounded. I’ll join the group when I’m here. They couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful Snowy is, she likes that you know. 😉
Even though I have no idea how long I’ll be in Wisconsin for, or the US for that matter, I realised that American living is difficult if you don’t have some kind of administrative roots here. Even getting a SIM card was difficult because I needed to have a debit or credit card with a US address and I don’t. It makes sense, they aren’t used to travellers from different countries because the US is big. In Europe, you can travel by car for 5 minutes and be in a different country if you live on the border. Most countries don’t care what your address is or where your bank is.
Anyway, I wanted that SIM card sooner than later because most Americans are not on Whatsapp and many mobile phone providers charge for iMessages from a foreign number. My parents lent me their card while I applied for an online checking account. It literally took about three minutes. I was like, “Wow. What a relief!” Not only was it easy, but I could do it all in my mother tongue! When I opened my bank account as a Spanish resident, it took four trips to the bank over a week and was just about to the point where my Assessor (Accountant) was about to pull out his connection card to get me the account so I could register for self-employment. It’s one of those deals where the tax office wants paperwork from the bank to give you some paperwork, but the bank needs that paperwork to open an account. It was all in Spanish and I was pulling my hair out. Luckily it was sorted in the end when I went to the bank with a file full of papers and said I was not leaving the bank until I had an account. That’s how you get shit done in Spain. It’s exhausting.
Next mission, driver’s licence. If you get a ticket for any kind of driving offence in Wisconsin, you have to pay immediately if you have an out of state or country licence. Well I like to have options (like fleeing the country without paying), so I decided as long as they don’t take my Spanish licence, I’m going to try and renew my old Wisconsin licence. I went to the appropriate website and within five minutes I had all of the required documents. I was like, really? The reason why I won’t let them take my Spanish licence is because of the painful and gruelling process it took to get it. First of all, they used to just change over a UK to a Spanish licence, but Brexit stopped all of that. The other option? Take the theory and practical test. I don’t think so. I already took a driving test in Wisconsin and England and had no interest in adding a third country to the list.
So I believed the rumours that they were trying to reinstate the changeover. I spent a year renting cars with my UK passport and licence ignoring the fact I was a resident. My heart built up muscle as it tried to escape my chest every time there was a traffic block to check documents. Finally the announcement came that we could switch to a Spanish licence! It took me a week to book an online appointment because of some crazy system they have and then I needed to get a medical exam and pay for the licence at this place and get a receipt before I could go to the appointment. Oh yes and get photos done and I probably gave them my DNA too, but it was all so traumatic I’ve blocked it out. Needless to say, that thing is gold and if I ever go back to Europe, very useful so I’m not giving it up for love or money.
After accomplishing those tasks, I took myself out for breakfast, had time to help my parents with errands, put Snowy together and thought about going for a club ride that evening, but it was a half hour drive. After being away for 19 years, 30 minutes is now a long drive. I’m going to a club ride tonight instead that’s a 10 minute cycle ride away. Much easier. I’m sure there will be some tales to tell about that experience.
My messages were still unread, my phone didn’t sing me a special song and I’d had enough. We BOTH made an agreement to live together, I had done my part by moving my how life and now I wanted answers. If this wasn’t happening anymore, I wanted to know. I sure as hell was not going to settle by myself here. I couldn’t wait to turn 18 and get the hell out of here, so if I was going to move back at 45, there had to be a damn good reason.
I figured he was hungover after a long Memorial Day weekend, so I waited a respectable time and went to his house. Luckily his truck was parked outside, so he couldn’t hide and say he wasn’t there. I sent a message saying, “I’m outside. Give me 5 minutes and I’ll leave you alone.” He read that one immediately, but no response. Another text from me and 15 minutes later, he came out. I won’t tell you the details of the conversation, but the outcome is that it’s over. It took all of 15 minutes and that included some catching up conversation and jokes at the end.
I left his house with dignity, sadness and a huge relief after nine days of cruel silence. At that point, I just wanted answers. I drove to the park down the street from him and started walking. I wasn’t ready to go to my parent’s yet. I called the friend who picked me up from the airport, but she didn’t answer. I went walking probably for the last time in that park. No need to be so close to his house again. It wasn’t long and she called me back. “Do you want to come over?” “Yes I do.” Tears of relief flowed that I had somewhere to go and someone that knew both of us who could provide consolation.
It was a beautiful sunny day, so we sat on her porch and chatted amongst the bird songs of house wrens, cardinals and sparrows. Oh yes and the squaks of the turkeys. Not her favourite animal on their land. I gave her the low down, which took longer than 10 minutes as I had to give my running head commentary he wasn’t entitled to. I was consoled with words of encouragement, endearment and support. “You can stay and hang out for a while,” she said. I sighed with relief. There isn’t exactly much to do at my parent’s house and my brain wasn’t focused enough to work. In fact, it hasn’t even been focused enough to show much concern for other people. I have been purely on survival mode, made worse by lack of sleep and nutrition.
I asked about her as the sound of the lawn mower in the distance drowned out the chirps of the birds. We downloaded an app to identify the different bird songs. The dogs kept us entertained with their neediness and obsession with balls. I finally met her lovely sons. I thought about how that was the kind of home I would like. On the outskirts with nature all around. Yes, that is also a boat, but maybe I’ll have a house one day too. She provided me solace when waves of sadness came over me. When I said I was going to leave, her husband said, “Aren’t you going to stay for dinner?” I’m still used to him not liking me, so I was pleasantly surprised he was the one that asked. He was smoking prime rib from cows they reared themselves so I couldn’t say no. I stayed.
We walked around their property again and stopped at their turkeys. Have you ever seen a turkey up close? They are ugly and scary looking. They have an energy of evilness to them. My friend said she felt bad because although they had a little escape to the back of their turkey coop where they could wander freely, there wasn’t much grass. She opened their front door to lush green grass with a plethora of bugs. The hen came out almost straight away and the tom stayed where he was doing his weird puffing up dance to show off how evil and scary he could be. Apparently in turkey world that’s attractive. Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong in human world…
Anyway, we went about our business, making drinks and preparing dinner whilst peeping out the window to see if he left. Eventually he did and we were all so happy to see he became adventurous. The dogs were curious and went up to them. You think the turkeys would be scared, oh no, the dogs were scared of them. There was a break in the dinner making process, so we went outside to supervise. This is when the comedy hell broke loose. The hen went into the garage, my friend tells it to get out, but it runs straight for her so she runs, carrying her shandy, trying to get away from the turkey meanwhile spilling beer all over it’s head. Her husband and I stood outside laughing, “Someone should really be videoing this,” he chuckled.
Meanwhile the dogs had run far from the tom. With the coast clear, he decided he was going to make their house his new home. He too ran for us, we put the dogs inside and one by one we all went inside and watched him from the window. He looked vicious as he came after us. He was on the porch, getting closer to the door. They didn’t want him pooping on the concrete. “Right, I’m going to be brave. I’ve already dealt with something difficult today, I can do this.” I went out and he ran at me again, but not so fast. I realised that if I walked towards the coop and then turned around running at him, he would strut and then walk/run towards me. His wattle (the bit that hangs from his neck) was changing colour, so I can only assume he found me very attractive. At least some male wanted me that day. We engaged in a long, yet beautiful mating dance towards the coop. As we got closer, my friend came out to open the coop door while her husband took a video, no doubt hoping for some drama. It was almost a success when the tom turned around realising his taste of freedom was about to come to an end. Her husband came with a stick and put it up against the turkey leading him to the coop. We closed the door and all was peaceful again. “I’ll never be nice to them again,” my friend said. I walked away flattered I could still turn a wattle red.
I woke up incredibly early as usual when I fly across the pond. I had been waking up between 3 and 4 am for the last week as I had so much on my mind. I caught up on messages from friends seven hours ahead of me curious to know what happened at the airport. Everyone wanted to believe as much as me that the love story had to continue. It was too cute, he was so open and kind, we were clearly so in love, it just had to have a dramatic turn for the better after a case of cold feet.
Still no message from my supposed boyfriend. It’s too early, don’t worry he’ll text, I reassured myself.
I eventually got up and had a lazy morning with my friend and her husband. He was curious to know what was going on too. Didn’t know what to make of it. I felt quietly supported by him which was encouraging. Now I was annoyed it had been so long since he had messaged me. I mean I moved my whole life, literally to be here for him. If he wanted to break up, I needed to know that too.
I tried to quiet my thoughts. I was grateful I had not one ounce of a hangover, just blurry and puffy eyes, but that was probably from being on my phone for three hours.
I was given a VIP tour of their house, which was just stunning. It was surrounded by huge fields with lush towering trees at the edges to block the views from passing cars. On the other side were endless fields. By the end of summer, the fields would be full of tall corn stalks providing privacy from the neighbouring house. The birds were singing so loudly making it a peaceful haven. All of the sudden, I heard a knocking. “Did you hear that?” she asked. “That is a red cardinal. Apparently it’s mating season and it thinks it’s reflection is another bird.” She put post it notes on the window in hopes it would distract him, but it didn’t work. As we chatted away, the bird kept trying to mate with itself and we eventually decided to go for breakfast.
As we left their driveway in daylight, I appreciated the uniqueness of the area. I may have never liked living here, even as a child, but as an adult who’s travelled extensively, I realise every place has its beauty. They had an original windmill standing proudly on their land next to an old barn. It’s hard to imagine it was only 100 years and that it was effective back in the day. We drove past the traditional red barns on the wide road, sprouting green fields that would blossom into corn by the end of summer and I thought, “It will be ok, we’ll talk and I can make this my home again with him.”
Not a skillet 😂
I love breakfast diners here. I can’t even say it’s American style because they’re different in every part of the States you go to. The country diners around here are usually pretty small with three sides of huge windows, the greasy kitchen on the non windowed side, booths along the walls and tables squeezed in the middle. Some are way too squeezed for the size of some of the customers. Another thing I had forgotten about. Mallorca is healthyville with hardly anyone overweight. If they are, they’re most likely a tourist. The breakfast menu is vast. It’s not just all pancakes, French Toast and waffles dripping with maple syrup and sugar like outsiders believe. They have huge omelettes, platters with bacon, eggs, sausages, hashbrowns, pancakes, bread and sometimes other things and skillets. Skillets are my favourite. The base is hashbrowns mixed with veggies, meat of your choice, and eggs as you like them on top. I had mine topped with cheese and fried eggs. I was super excited they had photos because I always forget how to ask for fried eggs and end up getting scrambled. “Oh! How do I ask for this?” I exclaimed. Her husband (who never liked me in high school even though he said he never didn’t like me – short memory I guess) has been thoroughly entertained by me and my stories and my accent. He laughed and said, “Over easy.” Finally! The last time I was here I desperately wanted fried eggs, but was too shy to ask. I’m American, I should know.
My friend and her husband were looking around to see who they knew. I was looking around to see who needed homeopathy and some nutrition advice. I found it easy to match remedies with people in Mallorca, here it’s different. There are many more lifestyle factors that influence people’s weight and look. She said how surprised she was that they didn’t really know anyone after they had lived there for so long. I sat there observing and listening to their chat. A wave of sadness hit me. The last time we were at a table together, my supposed boyfriend was with us and we were chatting about school and memories as he held my hand under the table and played footsie. I choked back the wave of tears that were about to come out as I was afraid her husband would have a heart attack in discomfort.
The skillets came out and they were huge but I have barely been able to eat. I seem to eat better around company, so I scarfed the whole thing down and rolled out of there with a full belly.
They dropped Snowy and I off at my parents and I spent the rainy day on the sofa snoozing and watching movies waiting for a call that never came.
Life’s twists and turns sure threw me for a loop this time. This phrase is used so annoyingly these days, but clearly the Universe has something else out there for me and I’m trusting. I mean you just have to look at my camera roll to see the incredible and adventurous life the Universe has given me, so I have plenty of experience to trust her.Clearly the Universe is not a man…
Six days before I was supposed to leave, I phoned my boyfriend in excitement, “Less than a week!” The tone in his voice suggested his excitement was not the same as mine and it wasn’t just because of the massive hangover he had. “I need some space, I can still pick you up from the airport, but I think you should stay at your parent’s for a while.” The text two days before the flight asking if he was still picking me up from the airport went unread days after I got here, the phone call when I landed went unanswered, all hope this adorable love story was going to work out dissipated.
Whilst my parents only live 10 minutes from my supposed boyfriend, it wasn’t the plan for them to pick me up. I was starting a new adventure and wanted to celebrate. I didn’t want to be picked up by happy yet sombre faces and sit in front of the TV while they waited for me to burst into tears or become unhinged. Luckily one of the friends I hung out with all the time in middle and high school is living in the area and she agreed to pick me up and take me out. She greeted me at the airport with tulips, “Sorry I’m late, I wanted to find roses as I know they’re your favourite, but I couldn’t!” She gave me a big hug. I imagined I would cry when I saw a comforting face. Instead I was so angry at my supposed boyfriend for not being there, for not meeting me at the baggage claim so that he could lug the maxed out weight bags I had been dealing with all day. I could just drag Snowy and he had the heavy stuff. Instead I had to do all of that and I was angry.
I filled her in on the full story as we drove. “You still want to go to the bar?” She asked. “Yep for sure!” I replied. I had been cut off from alcohol on the plane for the first time in my life. Normally I have one or two glasses of wine to help me sleep, this time I had that hourly to try and keep me nicely buzzed so I didn’t cry the whole way. It worked. I only cried until I got that first glass of wine.
Anyway, we had to stop for cigarettes. I usually bum them from my supposed boyfriend as I don’t smoke much, so that was another thing I was annoyed about. They’re expensive here. We went to a traditional country bar because that’s mostly what they have around here. I didn’t live here when I was old enough to go to the bars, so it always entertains me. We passed some brightly lit volleyball courts as we walked around to the main entrance. It was a huge bar with walls made of wood, fluorescent lights advertising the beer brands, dim lighting for those who wanted to take whoever it was home for the evening and cool air coming from the vents. We perched on seats at the bar, something I really miss in other parts of the world. The friendly bartender came up with her inviting smile asking what we wanted. I went with my go to only when I’m in the Midwest, Bud Light.
“I have to have a cigarette,” I said to my friend. I walked outside and leaned against one of the high tables soaking up the scenery and the night sky, not even realising there was a man standing almost next to me. “Hello!” he chimed. Oh yes, Midwest friendly, it has kind of been kicked out of me living in Europe so long. “Hello!,” I said. Since I had only had my last drink a few hours before (I chugged a couple in the airport as the internal flight wouldn’t provide free alcohol), I was Ms Chatty. “This place is huge! What is that? Are those volleyball courts?” They looked different when they were lit up and I was confused as to the layout. “They sure are,” he said and proceeded to tell me the schedule. “Where are we? Are we in Lodi?” I asked confused. He laughed and said yes looking at me like I was a crazy person. Then I explained that I had just come into town and hadn’t been here for a while. He asked if I was visiting my family. He got the whole low down, just like the woman in front of me on the plane. “Oh my god, I’m really sorry to hear that, what a tragic story,” he repeated. We introduced ourselves, he told me what he did for a living and I had to bite my tongue deep not to ask if he knew my supposed boyfriend because they’re in the same line of business. I luckily made sure to keep myself sober enough not to make any scenes or say anything I would regret. I could make a 10 year Netflix series on all of the times I’ve made a scene when I feel just like this!
Anyway, he finished his cigarette first, we said some niceties and I sat alone looking at the stars, “It’s just gotta be ok with him,” I told myself. I couldn’t even convince myself, I already knew.
My friend was patient whilst I ordered Bud Lights until I felt sleepy. To be fair, Bud Light has about half the alcohol content of what I usually drink, so I probably could have shortened the night by ordering something stronger. I was enjoying chatting with a friend who knew me for nearly forever, knew me when I first kissed my supposed boyfriend at 12, knew me when I was a completely unhinged rebellious teenager (and probably because of her was the reason why nothing bad happened. She was the sensible one), expressed such joy when I got in touch with her a couple of years ago and who was offering me more support than I thought I would get from someone I had spent about 20 years not talking to. Not for any bad reasons, we just went separate ways after school and drifted apart.
We drove on a windy country road to reach her house. Something I’m not used to anymore. I sometimes took the bus home after a night out in Europe, but if not, I either walked home to my house or a friend’s. No one had to worry about how much they drank. I’m going to have to get used to drunk driving again (just kidding, kind of…).
She lives in a 100 year old traditional farmhouse her and her husband renovated. I walked in the entryway to dark wood and warm colours in the kitchen, all beautifully crafted as her husband is a carpenter. It felt homely and welcoming, like a strong hug. Her two beautiful dogs greeted us, and it made me sad, knowing that I was supposed to be living with two dogs of my favourite breed. I curled up in bed with a sad, yet comforted and nurtured heart. The only way I was able to fall asleep was reassuring myself that he would phone tomorrow.
Three days ago the rug was ripped out from underneath me and I fell hard. Really hard. It felt like my head slammed into concrete and my back was broken. It was an unexpected blow at the worst time possible. I have the hard work of my personal journey and homeopathic remedies to thank for the brevity of the recovery. Today I am standing up tall, with a smile on my face, shining my light onto others once again.
I was thinking about what to write in regards to this situation as I have so much to say about my move too. Why it only took 3 days of tears or how my brain stopped functioning, or about the debilitating physical symptoms that I had to ignore because I have soooo much to do before I leave, or how I managed to get through it, or the shock in the opposite direction of my friends here who wrapped me in the biggest comfiest blanket I’ve felt in a long time or how positive I feel today. I think there are lessons in all of it so it’s hard to choose.
What I will say is that I took the advice of Christiane Northrup in Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom and I allowed myself to cry until I couldn’t anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that. I sobbed hard and loud. I wailed and let it all out. I don’t want any of those icky emotions in me when I start my new adventure. They serve a purpose, but aren’t meant to linger. In with the new, out with the old.
I have to say, that hour and a bit of non stop sobbing was one of the most beautiful emotional processes I have ever experienced. I really listened to my body, I asked how I was feeling and I cried harder as I identified all the emotions, then the anger came through and for once, I wasn’t angry with myself. I focused the anger in the right direction. I wailed at the unfairness of the situation. I wailed at how helpless I felt and how I just wanted to control the situation. I wept because I didn’t have control I was so in the moment, nothing mattered but getting this out. I paid attention to the different sensations in my body, all the emotions that came up and how my body twisted and turned when moving through each stage. It was one of the deepest cathartic moments I have ever experienced. When the tears dried up and the sobs ceased, I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I gave myself a hug and reminded myself to trust my intuition. Suddenly, a wave of peace rolled over me so strongly that I sadly left the moment because all I could do was open my eyes and think, “Whoa….that was the coolest feeling ever!” I will be recommending this to all who may need it.
Now onto the fun stuff! Today was the first day of lasts. I had my last (ok and first) early morning coffee at my favourite coffee shop. It’s lovely seeing a town wake up in the morning. I do it every time I travel. I sat and people watched. I realised how in the moment I was. I caught myself lecturing myself for how easily I can be present when I’m leaving or arriving somewhere, yet I struggle to do so in my everyday life. Then I rolled my eyes and thought, who cares?
Then, two dodgy looking English blokes came to pick up my bags to be delivered to the next destination. They looked as if they were somewhere they weren’t supposed to be, hurriedly ran the bags to the back of the van and closed the door. “You’ll send payment details, right?” I asked as he ran to the driver’s seat. “Yep,it’s just clothes, right?” “And books!” “Great,” he said. I was going to joke about and 10 kgs of cocaine, but decided they may search my bags and I had enough trouble cramming everything in, no one would be able to get all the stuff back in. So I smiled, waved and as I turned around, the shopkeeper from downstairs smiled at me said, “It’s real, the bags are gone!” “I know!” I said with tears in my eyes. “I feel emotional, but in a happy way. It’s so exciting. Step 1 complete! Hopefully I’ll see them again,” I laughed.
I got on Snowy and flew to the Port for my last cheap haircut. €20 including tip and she does a good job. I hear men’s cuts where I’m going are like $40 at not fancy places, so I don’t even want to guess what a women’s cut is. Then I cycled to the bike shop so Snowy could chat with her friends while I instantly undid my hairstyle with my last swim. The water iss still chilly, just how I love it. I looked at the Port as I floated and thought, “What a privilege that I got to live here, what a privilege I can leave.” Although Mallorca is not my favourite place to live, I can’t deny how stunning she is.
I sat on the beach for a while people watching, thinking how great it is I’m leaving now when all these people are invading my special space and how many more will come every day until the max in August and they VERY SLOWLY start leaving in September until January when I have the beach all to myself again. Then I had to rush back to meet the first friend I was saying goodbye to. Actually one of the friends that called when I was in inconsolable sobs and said the one and only thing I want to hear when I’m upset, “Of course you’re going to feel upset darling, that’s ok, don’t try to feel anything different.” I had my last meal at my favourite restaurant in the square and was happy to see that the manager finally recognised me (again) and we got special treatment. I didn’t even tell him I was leaving, I was just shining that bright today. We shared stories and laughs and ignored that it was our last time in person. Tears welled up as I said goodbye. Thank goodness for international communication. I’m sure I’ll need to hear those comforting words in the future.
Then I cycled Snowy to the Port for the last time. She’s going to be spending the next few nights with her old and new friends. The separation anxiety is real, let me tell you! I feel like I’ve abandoned her and don’t know how I’ll get to sleep without her beauty next to me. Why didn’t you ship her as well you ask? How can you even think that!!!! I can’t be away from her that long and I want to make sure she’s ok and arrives with me safely. I’m not telling her that I’m cheating on her to go on my last bike ride in Mallorca with my favourite cycling partner.
I was going to take the bus back home, but thought, nope, I want one more last walk soaking in the majestical mountains. I returned to being in the moment. Looking at houses that I never saw before because I was always rushing, on my phone, or thinking of what I was going to do. I said hi to all those that passed instead of being so in my bubble that I didn’t even notice anyone walked past.
I’m sitting on my terrace for the last night writing and relaxing. It will be my last night with the bean bag I’ve wanted for years, got it a couple of years ago and will now be passing it on to a friend who will enjoy it as much as I have.
I’ll have to stop here. The daily sunset show has begun and soon the mountains will turn from yellow to deep golden to pink. I gotta go live the moment.
The adventures of a yogini sailor 