The saying is thought to have originated with Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, and it's a little bit of how I'm feeling right now. The intent of this blog was to keep an honest account of my experience as I prepared for my journey, and frankly I haven't kept up my end of the bargain.
So much has happened, so much crazy in my head, I feel like I blacked out sometime in the early part of 2012 and am now just becoming lucid.
How to recap it all.
When was my last serious blog?
Here is an image to distract you while I think.
Artist of photo above I wish I could credit you, but I don't know who you are, I'm sorry. If anyone does know who this artist is please let me know!
So what has happened.
The apartment is empty and gone.
Difficult endevor but I made it. Long obsesive nights of packing, repacking, hauling unwanted treasures down to the street to let loose into the universe.
Moments of breaking where all attachment was gone and I could have walked away from it all, and I would have but then it would just become someone else's problem, and I'm a fan of taking care of my shit.
I think the most extrodinary momnet was releasing my old art work.
I started taking photography class in highschool, I was either 15 or 16 years old, I loved the film, I loved the darkroom, I learned fast and worked hard and have (had) about 20years of work to show for it.
A few years ago, during my last move, I did a big art dump. I opened my doors and let people come and take whatever they wanted but I kept the really good stuff for myself.
This time around I put out the word, another art dump and this was the good stuff, a few people came, a few things went but there was still so much.
I hate those things you keep because you feel like you should, but when it comes down to it they are just stones around your neck, emotional sand bags to pull your body down to the deeps pf the river.
Cut. Cut.
I took all those images down to the recycle bin and chucked them in.
It was a beautiful euphoria.
The next morning while driving to work a saw a homeless man with one of my portfolio boxes leafing through the discarded dreams.
I wish I had a picture of that, but the image in my mind will have to suffice.
There was a span of time I fell deeply in love with my SF life.
It had reached perfection.
I didn't want to leave.
I would give anything to stay.
A true feeling even if I didn't feel like I could share it.
Then the universe magically reminded me how quickly things can change, and shoved me back to the direction I needed to be going.
The day before my flight I felt like I had over stayed my SF life.
The most important things, the people that make up my family I have bundled here in my heart and they keep me full and strong.
This time around I put out the word, another art dump and this was the good stuff, a few people came, a few things went but there was still so much.
I hate those things you keep because you feel like you should, but when it comes down to it they are just stones around your neck, emotional sand bags to pull your body down to the deeps pf the river.
Cut. Cut.
I took all those images down to the recycle bin and chucked them in.
It was a beautiful euphoria.
The next morning while driving to work a saw a homeless man with one of my portfolio boxes leafing through the discarded dreams.
I wish I had a picture of that, but the image in my mind will have to suffice.
There was a span of time I fell deeply in love with my SF life.
It had reached perfection.
I didn't want to leave.
I would give anything to stay.
A true feeling even if I didn't feel like I could share it.
Then the universe magically reminded me how quickly things can change, and shoved me back to the direction I needed to be going.
The day before my flight I felt like I had over stayed my SF life.
The most important things, the people that make up my family I have bundled here in my heart and they keep me full and strong.
