A wise man once told me that the best way to ensure we keep moving forward is to minimize obstacles.

The same wise man encourages capitalizing on strengths, and delegating weaknesses to others.

And here I am.

Facing another obstacle, that’s in my head, yet it’s an obstacle nonetheless.

I was supposed to be out of my house on the first. Ten days ago. The plan was to stay with a friend—a return of the favor when he went through his divorce five years ago.

Although, two years ago, I did stay with the same friend for a few weeks. The circumstances were different then: I was escaping someone I’d allowed to invade my home. That tactic worked, as she fled my house, and her loneliness, and I was able to return.

Apparently, not everyone can be alone with themselves.

This time? I am not looking to escape. I am looking to move on. I am also a baller on a budget.

My friend decided it was appropriate to pay a nominal rent while staying with him in his home this time. Nominal, but enough to sting.

So I stalled.

Not to sound ungrateful for the opportunity, but the last thing I want to do is flee my solitude to PAY for the PRIVILEGE of having a roommate. No. Thank. You.

Especially when I can pay half again as much and rent a shitbox studio.

So, why do I sound ungrateful? Why do visions of my grifting step-sister flash through my head? Why do I feel guilty, as if I’m looking for a handout?

Is there a difference between a handout and a favor anyway?

Unlike this friend, I crave my solitude. I am less alone when I am alone.

So I stalled.

And here I am. Ten days late. I have to get out of this house if I want to move on with my life. Yet I don’t want to pay a mortgage on the house plus utilities, on top of rent plus utilities with a roommate—effectively abandoning my solitude.

By presenting me with the idea of rent + roommates, it suddenly became cheaper and more desirable to stay put. And piss everyone around me off. And appear to be stuck. Yes, it’s designed to be temporary. Also yes, I perceive this as hemorrhaging money... money I don’t have much of while transitioning anyway.

Why do I feel taken advantage of? I know money makes the world go round. Or maybe I feel like a chump, for NOT taking advantage of my friend’s divorce?

It feels like I’m PAYING to GIVE UP my SOLITUDE. My solitude. The one thing that brings me the most joy.

I suppose I’d make a piss poor stoic. Or maybe not?

Maybe I have chosen the shit sandwich I prefer? While seeking a third option... after all, if I’m going to have to pay rent, why not keep the solitude?

What i'm listening to:

Move Away
Culture Club
From Luxury to Heartache

At least now I understand why most people wait until they are dead to sell their estate. Kinda wish I was.

I hate this. Nothing feels good about it. Nothing.

Would you tell someone if they were attempting to do something colossally stupid?

And what is colossally stupid?

As I am approaching “freedom,” I find myself in a crisis of sorts. For years now, I’ve been asking the question: what do I want? I believed I had figured it out, but have I?

Big change is big. And commitment is scary. Doing something irrevocable seems, well, colossally stupid.

After decades of accumulating STUFF, purging this STUFF is providing me with the gift of anxiety. What am I doing?

I pack something, then unpack it. Pack something else, then unpack it. I’m five days late in moving out of my house so the sellers can get to work.

It. is. battling. an. addiction.

STUFF has given me years of comfort. Some of the STUFF still provides me with joy when I hold it in my hands.

Yet, to achieve the freedom to travel, I really must take another (few/several) steps back. I really need to embrace the backpack.

Or am I being colossally stupid?

In this vast field of unknowns that are causing me pain, there is a small sampling of knowns:

• I have nothing. Any proceeds from liquidating my life will be gone when they are gone.
• I have a track record of bad decisions. One can argue, I have never made a good one.
• Even in the excitement of this journey, I am STILL only fantasizing about blackness. I don’t really look forward to anything.
• The chaos of extricating myself from my quasi-comfortable life has stripped joy from everything but my job—which is terrifying.
• However, I clearly need to get rid of my house. I never wanted it, and each year it becomes more of a weight around my neck. Besides, this market is perfect for this.
• But STUFF.

How stupid is it to sell something I’ll eventually replace? Colossally?

It’s only my third day out here, I don’t know.

What i'm listening to:

Everything Your Heart Desires
Daryl Hall & John Oates
Ooh Yeah!

Well, no one ever accused me of being smart...

It’s raging. Inside me. Inside my head.

Between what I want—and what I have.

I’ve been soft for too long. Comfortable. Lazy. The latter, I enjoy so much. Okay, maybe not the laziness... but naps.

Naps are wonderful. I can feel the wave of narcolepsy wash over me. I can feel how I succumb to it. In fact, it’s awareness of my afternoon narcolepsy that has enabled me to overcome insomnia. Something to channel to allow me to fall asleep. Virtually whenever.

Yet, I still don’t get enough sleep.

All of the motivational reading states that following your passion SHOULD make you unable to sleep at night. Driven. Motivated.

Unable. To. Sleep?

After years of battling insomnia? Why would I want that?

Yet, here I am. Still shackled to my... stuff. Unsure I want to walk away. Regardless of the rich life of travel I know I’d enjoy.

Just last night, I was talking to a friend from high school. He has no stuff. He was homeless for four years.

He confirmed: the “no stuff” is liberating, but he didn’t enjoy the homelessness.

I want to be homeless, but of a different sort. I still have resources. I want to wander. See the world. Experience all the beauty the globe... and all those beautiful brown girls... has to offer.

This is the war. Do I want to leave bad enough? To walk away? From all of this?

Whatever this is?

And will I?

Before I piss everyone off?