This is f*ing hard work
I'd like to say something about the aestheticisation of the alt-lifestyle. All those happy families living it up in simplicity? Okay, Real I guess, but for those of us (me) who weren't born already living like God's gift to humankind (even though I Am, clearly), well, I just want to say that this journey is first of all a journey of self-transformation, and it's hard inside of me because it's real, and it's hard in my relationships because it's real.
In that context I just want to acknowledge the person I've hurt the most because of my commitment to living well. And I'm going to be gumptious enough to give a bit of advice: don't even thinking about staying home without first finding someone who loves you. Don't stay home in yourself, don't stay home in your locale, and don't stay home in your planet--find an escape. If you do stay home--if you make a real and honest commitment in spite of your limitations--if you're anything like me--you're going to want to find a partner like my Phil.
Sometimes I write poems for Phil on our anniversaries. Here's one of the first.
You won’t catch me crossing a bar.
When I was nine, we left my mother beached
between creek and sea.
I remember my thrill,
my mother’s anxiety.
For her, Father steered our canoe to less risky waters.
Now, You are at home
with our small daughter
and I sail the straight.
The instructor speaks of risk
of standing waves,
how a powerful flow
into treacherous sameness
and hidden lows.
I recall our honeymoon.
You pointed to the creek
as it flowed against the tide.
We watched a bump form in the water.
Another, as we stood on the beach together, and then more.
Like a sea serpent, you said.
Like the feel of your fingers, I think,
Like a woman remembering her lengthening spine.