A few weeks back I hit a wall. It was something asinine about work that eventually led to a clear image of spinning wheels and wasted energy, the dragging out of something (Hawaii) losing its beauty, something (this actualized dream of mine) that is clearly ready to dissolve and be let go of.
I hit a wall and for the first time in quite a while it dawned on me that, rather than sit here staring up bemoaning myself for not being able to scale it, I am occasionally allowed to simply walk around the stupid thing.
I hit a wall. I made a conscious decision not to berate. I looked to my left and saw a blinking green arrow. On it were the words “Call Your Dad.”
So I called my dad and said, “What do you think?” and he said, “Yah!” and a plan was made.
Notice has been given, flights booked, car rented. My furniture sold quickly on Craigslist and my personal items packed snugly into boxes on their way to my sister’s storage unit just outside of Boulder.
I fly out of Honolulu on March 2nd, four months earlier than expected, landing in Vegas the morning of my 37th birthday. My father will meet me there and we will road trip it with the dogs through the canyonlands of Utah on our way to Colorado.
I hit a wall. I walked around it. I feel very very good about this.