I find myself here, staring across the expanse and wondering how I got here. A lonely road, converging with another. Staring in four directions, not sure which one to take. I planted my heart here at this intersection, hoping to watch it grow and perhaps catch the attention of another on their journey. I’ve seen the headlights in the distance, but they always seem to turn off before they reach me. I built a home here, I built stability and constance hoping the lights of hearth and home would bring you to me. I filled the intersection with cars, music, art, travel, more books than anyone could ever want. Philosophy, arts and science on one corner, a warm kitchen, a comfy couch and bottles of wine on another. All this I made, all this I built. All in the hope of meeting you. And here I wait.
Part of me thinks it’s time. Time to tear it all down, pack it all up in a U-Haul and move on down the road, away from this lonely, quiet intersection. I look at what I have built, the life I have chosen and realize no matter how much I have here, no matter how much I invest in here, it all means nothing without you. That destructive and spontaneous part of me considers lighting a match, watching it all burn and take the well worn road and try to find that turn off where I see your headlights go. Give up. Ignore my accomplishments. Ignore my pride. Ignore me. Leave my crossroads like a turn of the century mill town: slowly rotting and falling apart.
I can’t do that. Too many responsibilities, too many attachments. So I repair the buildings here: a new roof for my income, a new car for my ego. The kitchen is a little more crowded than I like, the couch a little lumpier than I like, but I make do with what I have. Maybe it’s time to open a little thrift store and it’s time to sell off some aspects of my little life here. Maybe, less is more. And maybe, just maybe, while I’m tending shop at my new store, I will finally meet you. Then this little crossroad won’t feel so desolate.
I planted my heart here hoping it would bring you to me. Now I realize that I have to be willing to uproot my heart and break away from my routines if I ever want a hope of meeting you. But everything comes in baby steps and a thrift store, selling off the gently used aspects of my heart will help ease into that uprooting. I’m ready, I’m willing. The shops open.
Where are you?