Saturday

My last Saturday in Seattle was spent packing, cleaning, and packing and cleaning. Check out my extremely clean freezer. I'm quite proud. I've all but filled the dumpster at my building. There is just enough room for a load or two tomorrow. I'm happy to say, I am almost done. It may look like a jumbled mess right now, but it's not. Planning ahead worked out extremely well. Having started the packing and planning process months ago, I was able to pull everything together for this move in just over a week. So far, everything is going smoothly. Like clockwork. Precise. It's too easy. I'm nervous.
Here is my timeline for those of you who don't read the blog all the time or are tired of trying to decipher what I think I've said but in actuality have only thought. Huh? Right. I'm not sure I've been clear so here is the clarity:

Friday (July 30th): Drive to Boise. Spend the night with my friends T & C and their kiddos. Say goodbye. :(
Saturday: Drive to Grand Junction, Colorado. Shack up at a local hotel.
Sunday: Drive as far into Kansas as I can get, preferably close to Witchita. Spend the night. Preferably in a witch-free hotel.
Monday: Drive to Dallas for training for my new job, meet my new team, and see the infamous national headquarters of my LNPO.
Tuesday - Friday: In Dallas for training. Hotel and meals all week are on the LNPO. Woo-hoo!
Friday night (August 6th): Head out. Drive to around Little Rock or before. Find a hotel. Sleep.
Saturday: Either 1) drive until I make it to Blacksburg, then pass out. Or 2) Drive to about Nashville or so, spend the night, and finish my journey on Sunday.

Whew. I'm tired just thinking about this. It should be quite the adventure! So far, I am going it alone. If you want to be spontaneous, let me know! Though, the thought of flying somewhere, driving for 2 or 3 days, then flying again doesn't exactly sound fun.

I don't feel sad yet, I think I've been too busy packing and cleaning to focus on how I feel. Though, I think it feels good. I feel relieved, even though it doesn't feel completely real yet. I feel safe, too. Knowing that I am moving in with the 'rents for a little bit, to a place I'm familiar with, in a low-pressure situation...well, it's what I need to heal, breathe, and refocus myself for the next 9 years.

Now, the question is...what to do with Fike?

Green means go

I don’t care about the color of your skin, if you’re plump or boney, if your hair is red, black, blue, or purple. I don’t care what kind of car you drive, how much rust is on it, or how shiny and clean it is. If you’re a bad driver, you’re a bad driver.

Seattle drivers would not survive on the east coast. You would be run off the road, sworn at, and shown the middle finger so many times you would swear people on the east coast only have one. Your commitment to left lane slow cruising would be challenged by tailgating, light flashing, horn honking, and, if you’re brave enough to look in your rear view mirror, swearing and arm flailing from the driver behind you.

You would start signaling your turns, you would stop slowing down to look for parking spots with blatant disregard for everyone else, you would pass bicyclists in a reasonable amount of time, you would start accelerating when the light turns green, or maybe even before. You would stop getting two inches from the bumper in front of you when it is making a left turn, you would actually go around said left turning vehicle when there is in fact ample room, and you would stop making that left turning driver feel bad simply for turning, while subsequently feeling bad for you for being such an idiot.

Oh, and that’s just the start. Let’s talk about the speed limit. Apparently in Seattle it is just a suggestion. In reality, you don’t need to even get close to the speed limit. I mean, why accelerate if you’re turning in half a mile? Right, it makes no sense to approach the speed limit when you’re just going to use your brakes again soon. Just coast along, going 15 or 20, there is indeed no one else on the road but you.

Ah, I miss the fear inducing lane changes on the Beltway of DC. The sun shining, the cars zooming past me, crossing over eight lanes of traffic to get to my exit. Or driving in Boston during the Big Dig when I actually held my breath, closed my eyes, and hit the gas after waiting to get into traffic for 20 minutes. That is fun driving; that is how you get places and have a good time doing it. Not here. Here I go about two feet before I have to hit the brakes to stop at a red light, for a bicycle, for a pedestrian, for a slow driver, for someone trying to find parking, for someone going well below the speed limit, or for some other, unidentifiable reason. It’s enough to make me not want to get behind the wheel. And that, my friends, is a problem.

Goodbye slow, rocky, cement, rain catering freeways. Hello smooth, asphalt, fast moving, interstates!

Regret? I choose no.

When I look back, there are many things I wish I had done differently. And there are a few things I regret. I won’t name them; that would be depressing. Is wishing I had done something differently and regretting a decision the same thing? I don’t think so. Wishing I had done something differently seems to come from future learning. It’s more of a, “If I knew then what I know now…” kind of thing. A decision I regret is an educated choice I make fully aware of the consequences and then later realize those consequences are in fact what I thought they would be.

There are a few decisions I have made that I consciously, intentionally, decided I would not regret. Again, I won’t name them. I said to myself at the time, “I’ve done my research. I understand the potential consequences. I realize I could feel regret for this choice. I am choosing to never let myself regret this decision. I know I can’t change it. I know I can’t go back. This is my choice.” It sounds dramatic but it’s not. It’s really about taking ownership and responsibility for a decision and not letting myself hate myself for it.

You’re dying for examples, I know. Too bad! You’re wondering, “Where is Eme Ashe going with this?” That I can answer.

Moving away from Seattle this time is something I could regret. I know what I am giving up. I love it here. It has been my home for nine years. I love the beauty of this part of the country; I love the variety of the city; I love the weather. At the same time, there are a lot of things here I wish I had done differently. I can choose to look back on Seattle as nine years of learning or one decision to leave as regret. I choose the former.

I am choosing to look out my window right now at this beautiful city, with a beautiful sunset, with no regret. I can do that. I am empowering myself to do that. It’s not easy, but I can do it. I am so glad I came, and left, and came back, and left, and came back. Now it’s time to leave. I don’t regret this decision. I won’t regret this decision. I have taken nine years to make sure this is right.

I’m sad. I’m scared. I’m alone. I’m at peace. Goodbye Seattle! I love you!

Bryan with a why

I'd like to take a moment, or a post, to honor my friend Bryan. Today would have been his 34th birthday.

Bryan is one of the first people I met in Seattle. We met in a Cognitive Psychology class, the whole reason I was at the University of Washington (UW) in the first place. I needed the class to graduate and my tiny college wasn't offering the course for another year. I found the class at the UW, signed up for it, and others, during Summer Quarter 2001, and well, you know the rest. I'm sure he approached me, in the hallway during one of our breaks. He liked to talk to people, to meet new people, to learn and grow. He was nice, went to a Lutheran church, and we had enough in common to become friends. So we did.
He walked me back to my single dorm room, invited me to church, introduced me to people, showed me his favorite places on University Avenue, and made the summer seem to stretch on forever. We watched the fireworks at Gas Works park on the 4th of July, walked along the Burke-Gilman trail, went to a worship service every Tuesday night at "The Inn," and of course, studied Cognitive Psychology. He humored my family when they were in town, riding the "Spirit of Washington" dinner train with us. I hung out with his parents when they visited, taking in my first Mariner's game.

He taught me about compassion, sharing his granola bars and fruit with the homeless. He didn't flinch when they turned down one thing or tried to be picky. (I, of course, was appalled. "Really? That guy didn't want your granola bar? He had the nerve to toss it back to you?") Bryan was a few years older than me and had been through a lot. His father was in two serious accidents resulting in paralysis. His mother was morbidly obese. He was the baby of the family, grew up in Idaho, and found trouble with the law. He spent some time in juvey before finally pulling himself together, moving to Seattle, and going to college. He was a marathon runner, a triathele. He was kind. He had a twinkle in his eye that held humor and mystery. He had a smile you couldn't help but return. He volunteered to build houses and lead church groups. He gave and gave and gave.

In all fairness, sometimes he was a pain in my ass. We often clashed and disagreed. He was nice and polite; I was young and rude. I think we taught each other a lot over the years. I like to think I inspired him as he applied for graduate school and moved across the country to Pennsylvania to pursue his doctorate in Physical Therapy.

He moved east, I moved west, and our paths stopped crossing. I thought about him sometimes and found myself looking at pictures of him one day in March of 2009. That night I had a dream about him. It was dark, he was working with a group of youth, I saw him, avoided him, and started to run away. He chased me down, hugged me, and told me he loved me. Closure to that friendship in the form of a dream. Weird. Must have been the pictures combined with whatever I ate that night.

The next day, I Googled him. How else do you find people these days? What I found was not him, rather his obituary, complete with photo. There was no mistaking it, he was dead. My heart skipped a beat, then another when I realized the date. He had died exactly one year ago to the day yesterday - the day I had the dream. Whoa. Was he saying goodbye? Did he know I was about to find his obituary? Did he want me to have closure before I knew? Is that kind of thing possible or am I crazy? Was that just a coincidence by definition and nothing more? I'll never know.

Dead. March 2008. "As a result of injuries sustained in a tragic fire." I'll never forget that line. He was 31. As if that wasn't tragic enough, he also had a son who will grow up without a father.

My best memories of Bryan are from our trip across the country. After the end of Summer Quarter we drove from Seattle to his parent's house in Lewiston in separate cars, with the intent that he would return to Seattle and I would venture on to my parent's then house in Georgia. Before we even got out of the city his car broke down, needed a new clutch, and left him with a rental. That rental car quite possibly never made it back to Seattle. He left it in Lewiston after making the spontaneous decision to accompany me across the country. We got stuck in traffic near Boise, drank Starbucks in Salt Lake City, slept in a field just east of Denver (though that sleep was short because I was afraid of being eaten by a coyote.) He drove through Kansas with the emergency brake on at 70mph for a good 15 minutes. We surprised his brother, who was stationed at Ft. Leavenworth. I left him there and drove the rest of the way without him. Good thing too because it turned out during the whole trip his driver's license was sitting on the counter of his parent's house.

I can say with complete certainty that my life in Seattle would have been markedly different if he and I had never met. When I moved back that fall (yes, just a mere 6 weeks after I left, a few weeks after September 11th,) he was the only person I knew in Seattle. I chose a place to live based on his location because it was familiar. Most of the friends I have here now stem from the roommates I had in that townhouse near him.

Bryan, I'm sad you died so young. You were on your way. Thanks for the memories, welcoming me to Seattle, being my co-pilot, and showing me a little compassion goes a long way. Most importantly, thanks for the goodbye.

Hit me with your straight shot

My clothes lined the walls of my bedroom, dust bunnies gathered in groups in the corners of my living room, boxes lay strewn about my apartment, I sat on the couch, sipping my coffee, taking it all in and then, my phone rang.

“Eme Ashe? This is your apartment manager. I’d like to show your apartment today at 3.”

I laughed. 4 hours and the clock was already ticking. I tossed my coffee aside and began furiously scrubbing and straightening in an attempt to make my apartment presentable to a potential tenant. I was successful. I can only hope this potential tenant fell in love with my straightened and scrubbed place as it could mean my August rent will be paid by someone other than me.

My place is so cozy and clean now, save the boxes piled behind the couch. The sun is out, the sky is blue, the laundry is quiet. Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all. I am now tasked with packing the remaining boxes and making a trip or two to Goodwill. I am picking out what clothes I want to wear for the next 3 weeks, trying to find the balance between chilly or temperate Seattle, dry and hot Dallas, and humid and warm Virginia.

"Errrrrrrt.” (That was the sound of tires squealing on the cement. What, you didn’t get that?)

“Virginia? This is Eme Ashe – EME ASHE. ASHE = Asheville. What gives?”

I just couldn’t get past the practicality of moving in with my parents for a little while. So that is what I am going to do. Yes, I’m a little nervous. I’m 31, moving in with my parents, working at home, in a town where I have no friends. I could go crazy. I could drive my parents crazy. We could all end up hating each other. I guess we’ll see what happens! At least I will be able to save some money, spend time with my family, not be stuck in a lease if indeed my “trial” position doesn’t work out, but most importantly, I won’t be stuck in a place I hate in a town I’ve never been. This way I will be able to drive to Asheville on the weekends, scope out the area, and decide 100% for sure that I want to live there and take my time finding a place.

Hey, I never said the road from the Emerald City to Ashvegas would be a straight shot.

What was I saying?

What was this blog supposed to be about again? Oh right, my huge life transition. Truth is I’ve been trying to avoid the topic until I had something concrete to say. The first few weeks of blogging was so up and down I wanted to stabilize things. Well, I am anything but stable so here is the update.

I’m moving. It’s hitting me. I scheduled my Relo-Cube. It’s official. I’m moving. In 2 weeks. Maybe. Picture a computer system for the space shuttle (well, the one in my mind) where you have a whole line of buttons, small, round, green. They represent each thing you have to do to get things ready for takeoff. Space Shuttle packed? Check. Freeze-dried food? Check. Duct tape? Check. In this case, it's a little different. Relo-Cube ordered? Check. Boss informed? Check. Parents preparing suite in basement? Check. Packing underway? Check. Now it’s just the matter of completing the list, hitting each little green button until they are all lit up. Then, the big, red, square button. Takeoff.

This is happening fast but in many ways, I have been ready and waiting for a year. The lost year. Suddenly I am hitting warp speed, waiting for everything to come to a crashing halt. If you’re feeling lost in space, you’re probably not alone. This week momentum picked up. My new boss asked me to come to Dallas the week of July 26th. My current boss said that was too soon, and I agreed. So, I’m going the week of August 2nd. In my mind, Dallas is on the way to the east coast. And it is, sort of. To me, it just makes sense to stop in Dallas for a week to train for my new position, then keep on heading east. Sure, it’s a few extra hundred miles in the long run. But it’s better than flying there for a week, flying back to Seattle, then taking a full week off, two weeks into a new job, to move.

That’s my plan. I’m hitting the green buttons until I find an error or hear the alarm. I’m moving in 2 weeks. Maybe. That's all I know about that right now. When the red button is lit, you'll be the first to know.

Weather baby

I haven’t mentioned the weather on here in days! I am so proud! I’ve talked about balloons and spiders and going crazy but nothing about the weather! I didn’t blog on Friday when it took me about an hour to figure out why the heat felt a little funny, (there was a touch of humidity!) There was certainly a lot I could have said about that. I didn’t blog on Saturday or Sunday to say how amazingly perfect the weather was. And Monday, wow, I didn’t say anything about how gray and downright cold it was or how I could have worn a turtleneck sweater and still been cold. That’s pretty good. I am very impressed with myself for not mentioning the weather on here anymore. Weather is such a good thing to talk about because we can all relate to it plus it dictates what we wear and often how we feel. But since I’m not talking about it on here anymore I guess I won’t mention how nice it is out today and how the whole week was perfect. Or how if the weather was like this all year round no one would ever leave. Or how perfect the weekend is going to be with sun, low humidity and highs in the 70s, blue sky and the water twinkling in the sunlight.

I have good news! I found out recently that one of my oldest friends is having a baby! (You know who you are.:)) I think it’s a girl and I think she will look like me. I can’t wait to meet her. (Or him, because if it is a him and in 20 years he is reading this blog on the 2030 version of microfiche I don’t want him to think I don’t love him because I said I couldn’t wait to meet “her.” Jeez!) Baby you-know-who-you-are is due in January. Hmm…I wonder what the weather will be like that day.

Please don't leave me

Dear iPhone,

I understand how you feel, believe me, I do. There are others out there younger than you, prettier than you, and well, let’s face it – they probably perform better than you do too. When we first got together it wasn’t easy. We were both going through a lot of change. You dropped my calls, but I didn’t take it personally. I had to adjust to your way of thinking and did so willingly. We made it then and we can get through this too.

I am committed to this relationship. I am not going to run out and find a younger iPhone to replace you. You just have to trust me. You're coming with me back east. You'll fit right in, they have iPhones there too. So please, PLEASE, stop flinging yourself off the counter, off my desk, off the bed, and off all the other structures you seem to be using to inflict scratches on and damage to yourself. And hey, what did you do to the hairdryer? It only works on the low setting now. Wait, did you break my computer??

It’s ok, iPhone; I forgive you. You’ve changed my life; please stop trying to end yours.

Love,
Eme Ashe

PS: This letter expires as soon as Verizon gets the iPhone and then you’re going on Ebay!

Busted

I could have busted my co-worker today. You know the one. The one that parks right outside the building everyday with her handicapped parking permit even though her foot healed from surgery a year and a half ago. Yeah, that one. We got in the elevator today. I pressed 2. She pretended not to be able to remember where she parked. I said, “2.” She said, “No I think 3 is better for me.” I should have said, “2. You parked on 2nd Avenue. Right out front. With your handicapped sticker. I saw your car.” I didn’t. I walked v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y to give her time to walk around the building to her car. I stood in front of her car. She took too long; I started to feel mean so I walked away. Gah! I should have busted her. Well, there is always tomorrow. I know where to find her.

That's a bunch of balloony

My life is a bunch of balloons, all filled with helium, ready to float away, high into the sky. The only thing keeping them from doing so is my firm grasp on their strings. I’m using one of those plastic things to keep them all intertwined. If I lose one balloon, I lose them all.

One balloon has work, which is already hard this week and it’s only Monday. I feel abandoned! My co-worker is on vacation and my boss decided it would be ok for her to take vacation this week too. So now I’m trying to do my job, trouble shoot my co-worker’s job, and hold down the fort for my boss. All while my new boss doesn’t get back to me on our timeline for transition, leaving me paralyzed from making actual, concrete moving plans. Argh. What's that sound? Is this balloon deflating? Maybe I should stop poking at it so much.

Another balloon has my mind and I think that string is slipping. What does it feel like to lose your mind? To watch it float away and take the rest of your life along for the ride? I bet it feels good. You probably start to lose touch with reality. You probably become unaware of how your actions affect others or the consequences they have. You probably don’t worry about your job, your future, your family, or anything. You probably eat whatever you want, don’t exercise, don’t stress about money, maybe not even pay your bills. And it’s ok because you’ve lost your mind! You get a leave of absence from work, go on disability for being crazy, then spend your days watching movies, sleeping, taking walks, and popping pills. It is actually starting to sound pretty good. Fine, I’m probably not going crazy, though I do feel like I better double knot that particular string.

I think one balloon has the past four years because I can’t seem to find them anywhere! Maybe that balloon floated away and is actually missing from the bunch. I don’t know where the last 4 years went. I feel like I blinked and suddenly it was four years later. There is so much I should have done, so many decisions I would change, so many relationships I should have nurtured, so much I should not have let slip away so easily. I guess this should be a lesson to me to hold on tight.

The smallest balloon has the next 4 years. I am just starting to blow that sucker up. It goes without saying that we can't change the past, but I'm saying it anyway. I can't change the past. I can't go back and do things differently or hit the pause button to catch my breath. I'm trying to take all I have learned and make the next 4 years something I can look back on with a smile. For starters, this balloon is blue and shiney, made with the newest balloon technology, and it has two strings for reinforcement. I'm not letting this balloon go. In fact, it is going to be big enough to swallow my work worries, my craziness, and my past. When I look up, I will see I am holding one balloon with two strings. Maybe I'll find someone else to hold the other string. Maybe I'll just hang on with two hands.