Caged Birds

Holy crap, it's happening. Nononononono. I have to keep it together and remember why I'm leaving, because the logic and rational thought that bought my plane ticket out of here is beginning to fade in the wake of the last beautiful week and this beautiful day and what the hell am I doing? What sane person leaves this? There is so much more to see, but damnit, there is so much here.

The desktop background on my computer right now is a watercolor quote by John Webster that says, "We think caged birds sing when indeed they cry." It's been set that way for months. The second a place starts to feel like home, some little alarm goes off in my head. It sounds like a screaming kettle most often, like my entire head might fly off if I don't pay attention rightthissecond. It sets a fire beneath my feet that sends me into some sparked panic and it feels as if leaving wherever I am immediately is the only way to cool back down. The kettle has been screaming for about a year now, I think. So, I turn up the volume on my iPod and watch too many movies and try my best to remain happy where I am. To not want to up and run again. To allow myself to feel at home somewhere.

But the panic has gone rogue now, and I am not sure how to rip myself away from this place. This is backwards. Too much time has been spent here and I should be itching to get away. To be uncomfortable again, to move to a place I've never heard of, to be curious and interested and lost. Do other people feel that? The allure of being lost? I'm drawn to the word and the concept, which does not make a whole lot of sense. Don't most people spend their time trying to find a place they would like to stay? All I want is the next place to leave. Or so I thought.

I will never understand why people want to be at total ease in their lives. Comfortable. Where is the fun in that? Where is the challenge? Find a place you do not understand. Stay until you do. Repeat. It's like molting. It is almost impossible to grow when all you do is stand still. There has never been a place that made me stop thinking about what the next one could be like.

But. For reasons I will not explain, I have had this island to myself again for a little while. I am in love again. St. John, you are forgiven for your post office and your tropical storms and your bewitchery. Let's get back to where we were when leaving was the last thing I could have imagined wanting. My feet are back on the ground, and on my own terms. There is peace in it; something I never wanted. Something I would never ask for. The closest comparison I can think of is that guy you don't know that well who comes up and starts massaging your shoulders. You're not that into it. It's awkward and you wish it was not happening. But then he stops and you think, "Wait, that felt good! Where did that guy go?"

I am effed. I want to stay. I want to leave. Both equally, it seems. There is some serious mutual exclusivity there. The wanting to stay part is tilting my universe. The feeling is new and unwelcome, and something I am (so predictably) trying to escape. The feeling also does me no good, if I am to be honest with myself. The Caribbean has me for one more month. St. John has me for two more weeks. The tickets have been purchased, the after-move plans made, the airport pick-up arranged. At this point, my only option is to buckle up and hope it doesn't sting so much that I can't bear it.

There are people who live their entire lives running from place to place. Bouncing, maybe, or floating like soap bubbles, making purples and blues out of sunlight and bursting when they finally land. Not subject to gravity, or at least not willing to succumb without protest. I've always wanted to float like that. To be prismatic and weightless. To live by Kerouac and The Shins and to not ever regret leaving. And if we are talking about the dangers of gravity, then it must be kept in mind that St. John has more weight to it than any other place I have ever lived.



Leaving could be the saddest thing I ever do to myself. Staying, the meanest. This is going to be messy.