Migration
Bethany,
I think it's time I write you a letter. My Uncle Eric is deep in the
South. His beard has grown thick and full. The grey mask reminds me
of my father. He's working on a pipeline right now. Not managing it,
not supervising, and not fighting fire. He's just working his aching
bones into the ground. It's the kind of work usually reserved for
strong backs just out of high school. Why is he there? Because life's
messy. The retirement benefit for all of his years of breathing acrid
smoke, smashing doors, resuscitating lives, pulling drunks from
mangled wrecks, and grieving the innocence lost, is not enough for
him to survive as an aging man. He'd love nothing more than to sip on
a dram of Islay malt, taste Cuba, and watch over his black-land
fields. Yet that remains an elusive dream. He wouldn't have me pity
him though. He wouldn't have me pity myself either. And he most
certainly wouldn't have me pity you.
Perhaps
the thing I love the most about the old chess master is his undying
love. His ability to smile a Texas smile at the sunshine before he
puts his head down and drives a fence line. And he laughs. Babe he
laughs so big, that big hearty bellow that could only be produced
from the depths of such an immense heart. I always call Eric when I'm
at my lowest points. I guess it always felt like his back was big
enough for both of us. He rode his bike all the way from the Red
River to Moscow just to see us on our proposal. He never complains.
He's never lazy. And he's always a Southern gentleman. That good kind
of Southerner, that maintains the old values but keeps a progressive
mind. Maybe I love him so much because he always seemed like the
version of my dad that I could be friends with. Anyways. The whole
point of bringing him up is because I called him yesterday. He
listened well and gave me good advice in that story teller way –
unassuming yet relatable, with anecdotal advice from a life of
adventures, riddled with failures in the midst of great joys. He
placed a particular remark in the puzzles of my mind with poignant
accuracy. “You're a control freak.”
I
guess I am. I never really thought about it like that, but it seems
to make a lot of sense. Wouldn't you agree? Although it may be nicely
disguised, and there may be a good amount of leeway, it seems to make
sense. Why am I so competitive? Why do I strive, sometimes at
ridiculous lengths, to win any competition? Why did I care so much
about my 4.0? Why do I still care so much about having the best
grades? Not even content with A's, it infuriated me if anyone even
scored a point higher on a test. And work, there it is again. I could
have skated through and made similar money. Perhaps to some extent a
healthy amount of a controlling attitude is a good thing. Yet, when
it's not about grades, money, or making friends – when it's about
something like feeling forced to move, forced to leave, forced to
dismantle, then what? Why should it bother me so much? I should be
thrilled to go to New Zealand. I should be thrilled to start a new
adventure with you. To have a chance at something great, together.
But perhaps it's as simple as choice. Even though I faked it well,
I've been having trouble convincing myself that I want to do what
we're doing. Unfortunately, my inability to cope with the ebb and
flow of life catches you in the rip. I'm not saying that because of this
new understanding I will be able to put all of my frustrations behind
me and start thoroughly enjoying our situation. But I guess what I am
saying is that I am able to start working on healthy decisions for
the both of us. I've never liked being told what to do, and I hate
being dragged into situations outside of my control. Yet, I realize
that if I can't get a grip on the tangible in this scenario, I will
most certainly make the situation worse for both of us.
The
tangible? Well, I guess a lot could be considered tangible here, but
a great deal of it is in my head. The loneliness, pity, regret, and
sloth are not caused by our new found environment. They are caused by
my inability to adapt. I'm not a happy person. In fact I'm incredibly
depressed and bitter at the moment. But I do understand that it is up
to me to make that a fleeting state, or a landslide. You don't
deserve a man who can't be there to support you. And for that reason,
I am dedicated to changing the man who writes you now. I'm sorry I've
been falling apart. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to our
future. I love you more than anything in this world, and it's time I
get back to showing you the truth in that statement. I'm coming home babe. XOXO
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