The Reasons I Keep Going
Starting over is scary. But I don't have to do it alone.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately while I'm cleaning out and packing.
There's something about going through your belongings when you're preparing to leave the place you've called home for more than 30 years.
Every box seems to make me stop and think.
Do I really need this?
Why have I kept this for so long?
Does this actually matter to me?
I'm surrounded by stuff that I've collected over the years, and as I'm deciding what gets packed into a moving truck and what doesn't, I've been thinking about something much bigger than my stuff.
I've been thinking about what I'm taking with me.
Not just what fits in the truck.
I'm thinking about the people.
The memories.
The lessons.
The laughter.
The love.
And the people who have given me a reason to keep going, even when my brain tells me I can't.
There are a lot of days lately when I wonder what the hell I'm doing.
I'm worried about money.
I'm worried about finding a job.
I'm worried about finding a place to live.
I'm worried about leaving behind everything I've known for more than 30 years.
I'm worried about failing.
And then there are the days when all of those thoughts get a little quieter.
Because I remember something.
I have a lot of reasons to keep going.
They're called family.
It Started With My Mom
My mom raised my brother and me on her own.
She didn't have everything figured out.
She didn't have some perfect plan.
She did what she had to do.
She worked.
She sacrificed.
She made sure we were fed.
She made sure we were taken care of.
She figured things out.
And somehow, she made sure we knew we were loved.
When I think about starting over, I think about her.
Because I learned something from watching my mom:
You keep going.
You figure out what needs to be figured out.
You do what you have to do.
And you don't give up just because things are hard.
Maybe I learned more from watching her than I ever realized.
And now, as I'm trying to figure out this whole Tennessee thing, I have a very important question:
Where is the best Dunkin'?
Because Dunkin' is my mom's favorite.
So apparently, finding the best Dunkin' in Tennessee isn't just about me finding my new coffee place.
It's research.
It's for my Mom.
And I take this responsibility very seriously.
I may be moving 600 miles away, but I'm going to need to know where the good Dunkin' is.
Because some things should stay familiar, even when everything else is changing.
Maybe that's what family does.
It gives you little pieces of home to carry with you.
Then There's Alysen
My oldest daughter.
Alysen is one of those people who can make me laugh when I probably shouldn't be laughing.
Our humor is very similar.
It's dry.
It's sarcastic.
And sometimes completely inappropriate.
Most people don't get it.
We do.
And honestly, sometimes that's all you need.
Someone who can look at the same ridiculous situation you're looking at and find the exact same thing funny.
She's always there for me.
She supports me.
She listens.
She makes me laugh.
And knowing that she is there makes this whole starting-over thing feel a little less scary.
Then there's her family.
Ishmael, her soon-to-be husband, and Alyssa.
They have been part of our family for the past ten years.
Ten years is a long time.
They're not just people I'm related to because of a relationship.
They're my family.
And they're already in Tennessee.
Which means when I get there, I won't actually be starting with absolutely nothing.
I'll have people.
I'll have family.
I'll have somewhere to go.
I'll have people who know me.
And apparently, Alyssa is pretty happy that I'm moving to Tennessee because her doctor (me) will be nearby.
So apparently she's already thinking about the important things involved in this move.
I have to figure out money, housing, employment and moving trucks.
Alyssa has her doctor.
Honestly?
I respect the priorities.
And Then There's Jocelyn
My youngest daughter.
Jocelyn has taught me that I need to see more of the world.
She reminds me that there is a whole lot more out there than the little bubble we sometimes create for ourselves.
She pushes me to get out, experience things, and see things differently.
And she has this way of helping keep me grounded when my brain starts running away with me.
And then there's Bela.
My Bela.
Yes, she's Jocelyn's Bela.
But she's mine too.
That's how family works.
And apparently, one of the requirements for being part of our family is participating in road-trip karaoke.
Our favorite?
"Ironic."
Which, when you really think about it, is probably the most appropriate song for my life right now.
I'm 52.
I'm leaving New York.
I'm moving to Tennessee.
I'm broke.
I don't have a job yet.
I don't know where I'm going to live.
I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get everything there.
And somehow, thinking about driving down the road singing Ironic with my daughter and my Bela makes me feel like everything is completely under control.
Right, Bela?
Maybe that's the point.
Life doesn't have to be perfect to be good.
Sometimes you're just driving down the road, singing the wrong lyrics badly with people you love, laughing until you can't breathe, and those become the moments you remember.
That's what I'm trying to build more of.
More moments.
More memories.
More laughter.
More life.
And honestly, if my new life in Tennessee includes a lot of road trips, karaoke and Ironic...
I think I'm going to be okay.
And Then There's Remmie
My little Pomapug.
My shadow.
My alarm clock.
My therapist who doesn't charge me.
My reason to get out of bed on the days when I don't really want to.
Remmie keeps me going every single day.
He makes sure I'm never really alone.
He doesn't care about my credit score.
He doesn't care how much money I have.
He doesn't care what my job title is.
He doesn't care whether I have a five-year plan.
He just wants to know:
Are we going to the park?
And honestly?
That's the kind of simplicity I need more of.
He reminds me that sometimes the most important thing you can do is get up, put your shoes on, go outside and take a walk.
Even when your brain is telling you everything is going wrong.
Especially then.
So Why Am I Doing This?
Because I have people who are counting on me.
Not in the sense that I have to be perfect for them.
Not because I have to prove anything.
But because I am lucky enough to have people who love me.
People who make me laugh.
People who challenge me.
People who keep me grounded.
People who want me around.
And a little dog who apparently has absolutely no intention of letting me disappear into my own head.
I started this project because I thought I was starting over alone.
But maybe I got that part wrong.
I'm leaving New York.
I'm moving to Tennessee.
I'm figuring out money.
I'm trying to find a job that pays the bills without becoming my entire identity.
I'm trying to build a life that actually feels like mine.
And I'm scared.
But when I think about the people waiting for me on the other side of this move...
I don't feel quite so scared.
My mom taught me to keep going.
Alysen reminds me to laugh.
Ishmael and Alyssa remind me that I already have family waiting for me in Tennessee.
Jocelyn reminds me there is more world to see.
Bela reminds me that life is better with a little road-trip karaoke.
And Remmie reminds me that tomorrow morning, somebody is going to need breakfast and a walk whether I have my shit together or not.
So I guess I'll keep going.
Not because I'm fearless.
Not because I know exactly what I'm doing.
Not because I suddenly figured out the secret to happiness.
But because I have people—and one very important little Pomapug—who remind me that my life is worth showing up for.
Maybe that's what success looks like to me now.
Not a title.
Not a bigger paycheck.
Not more stuff.
People.
Memories.
Laughter.
Love.
A dog who thinks I'm the greatest person in the world.
And the chance to wake up tomorrow and try again.
So...
I'm going.
I'm still scared.
I'm still making it up as I go.
But I'm going.
Come along.
And if anyone knows how the hell to spell Tennessee without Googling it every single time, please let me know.