The Space Between

                Orenthal James Simpson was released from jail today. I really don’t care. I kind of forgot he was in there. If I cared, I would have been shocked that it’s been 9 years since he went behind bars. But I don’t care about OJ. What I think about how much the world has changed in that space of time.  In 2008, Obama was starting his first term, Facebook was taking the place of MySpace, and the Spill hadn't happened. I reflect on how much my world has changed: a few jobs, that White House Fellows thing, numerous dog health scares and two road trips across the country.  I think about these things because I don’t care about OJ and his 9 years. I care about me. This shouldn’t be shocking new to anyone who knows me.

                Since he’s been locked up, I’ve moved from Huntsville to the beach to Huntsville to Seattle for a disastrous relationship. Moved four times in my three years in Seattle and then moved back to Alabama almost two months ago.

                The move back happened unexpectedly and quicker than I thought. I’m struggling with all the changes. I am not going to sugar coat it. That shouldn’t shock anyone who knows me. The struggle is real and hard and painful.

                While I’m thrilled to be back in Bama and incredibly excited about my job, I am living in the space between at work and at home. Even as unsettled as my life usually is, I’m finding it interesting to be this unsettled. At work, I’m in a temporary office. At home, I’m living in a furnished rental while my next home is being built. Yes.  I am building a home. Actually, I’m paying for someone else to build it (let’s be real).

                My art, photos, sheets, books, kitchen utensils, memories, and squatty potty are all packed up in a storage unit off County Road 98, more than 20 miles from where I’m staying. Too far to visit. Too far to retrieve for reminiscing. These things that hibernate in boxes tell my story. Without them, unsettled turns into lonely. Lonely is nag. She is a nag and a bitch. And I’m sick of her shit. But – because there’s always a But – But I can’t do anything about her. This is one of those “learn to dance in the storm” moments.

                When we find ourselves in the space between, centering and focusing are challenging. I find it easier to burrow into the nagging bitch of loneliness. This time, realizing that my space between is far grander than some people’s settling spot, I will not burrow.

 So, Allison, what are you doing to dance in this storm?  Tennis; I joined a couple of teams and have made a potential friend. Networking; I went to the PRCA monthly meeting and got asked out to happy hour – and went!! and had a good time!!! and met Alabama Democrats (they do exist)!!!!! Exercise; I joined a gym!!! Writing; I’ve started writing again. Thank you for reading again.

                Yes, life is filled with the space between: between offices, jobs, homes, and love. This is the place where we grow. This is place where we learn. It isn’t fun or easy. But (because of the necessity of But) if we’re really lucky, we get to do it on the beach.

                As always, enjoy the journey, soak up the view, and never forget how loved you are.


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