The Cathartic Clean Slate

"It's mine, you understand? Mine! All mine!" ~ Daffy Duck.

 

(I, uh… you're starting a blog post with a Looney Tunes quote?)

 

Yup. I sure am.

 

(Oh cripes….)

 

Oh don't get your knickers in a twist. Let me explain: Those that know me personally know that the last two-plus years have been tumultuous at best, having included a second divorce, major career upheaval, and deaths of family members and friends. To say that my time and my life have not particularly been my own is perhaps understating the notion. The last several months, however, have taken a decidedly heavy swing upward. Now, that's not to say that I haven't had my share of disappointment in the last several months as well, but I think I've learned to change my attitude and the way in which I react to such negativity such that I'm not affected nearly as greatly as I might have been in the past.

 

This leads me to my Daffy Duck moment: I purchased a house, and exactly one month to the day I closed, I spent my first night in my new home. When I awoke the next morning, I stepped onto the carpet in my bedroom, walked down my stairs, let the dog out into my backyard, and made a cup of coffee in my kitchen. And then I took a walk around the house with a grin on my face. I strolled through every single room. I adjusted a crooked picture on the wall, I turned on some music, I playfully chased the dog around the sofa, and then I sat down in the middle of the floor and cried.

 

It was an oddly cathartic and comforting moment. Emotionally juxtaposed were my tears and the ramblings of a sociopathic duck screaming "mine! All mine!" loudly in my head. But the truth remained: it was mine. All mine.

 

Now, I'm not going to pretend that I didn't bring my own issues to the table when it came to the demise of my marriage, but the end result was that I was forced into a situation that was wholly created because of my relationship with another. I had to live in an apartment that I didn't want. For the time being I had to drive a vehicle of which my co-pilot was the ghostly reminder of a failed marriage. Every single day for more than two years I was confined by walls constructed with the reminders of my own failures, missteps, and my past. What small solace I'd find would eventually come at the time of my closing.

 

My lease on my apartment expires in twenty-six days. For the low, low price of a few hundred dollars, I was able to close on my house early, giving me almost two months in which to personalize and paint my home while still having the benefit of a place to keep my belongings while I did so. And let's face it – the apartment was never home. It was never even someplace I lived. It was a holding area; a storage facility, both for my belongings and my life, until I found someplace else in which I could keep both and utilize both to the fullest.

 

For a month, I spent every weekend painting the rooms of my house with colors I chose. I replaced a couple of doors as I saw fit. And nearly every evening I moved a piece of furniture here, some boxes there, by myself. Granted I did have some help along the way with painting, and it is for that assistance that I am eternally grateful and cognizant of the fact that I am blessed with the best friends for which a man could hope. Ultimately, with the exception of a Jeep full of boxes and two trips with a friend's truck to move a futon, my bed and my dressers, I moved every other piece of furniture, every box, every picture from the walls, by myself.

 

There have been more than a couple people that have chastised me for doing so and for being stubborn. I appreciate that concern, I truly do, but there's something that they didn't understand. I needed to do this by myself as much as possible. This had to be mine as wholly and completely as I could possibly make it. I needed to be able to stand in my home and look around and say to myself "I did this." I MADE THIS.

 

Not many people get second chances, and trust me, that isn't something that I take lightly or a notion that's lost on me. In my case, I'm not even sure which chance I'm on. I am exceptionally lucky that I have this opportunity. I was given a clean slate which I've now marked as personally as possible. This is my chance to be me and nothing else. I walk into my home, I kick off my shoes, I throw on a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt and I grab a beer or a glass of scotch and I sit on my couch and I pet my dog and…. Yeah. This is me. This is my home. I did this. I made this. I made… me.

 

It's funny, that awkward moment when you realize just how much of yourself you've lost along your path. Like tires on the road, bits and pieces are worn away until what's left is nearly unrecognizable. It was time for new tires. It was time to get this thing rolling again. For too long I sped along on bald tires, constantly at risk for catastrophe.  Not anymore.

 

Again, those that know me well know that I love having those I love around me. There was I time I'd forgotten that, whether as the result of misplaced loyalty, depression, or other factors. I like to think that my friends and family have come to realize I am breaking from that destructive pattern, finally. Just this weekend I was the butt of a collective joke as those close to me took bets on whether or not I'd attend a group outing for dinner. I'm both happy and proud of myself in saying that I not only attended, but had a wonderful time in doing so. Oh, and to those betting against me, I offer you my smiliest, happiest, snarkiest, go f*cketh thyselves. And the best part is that none of those in attendance will read that and be offended. And that is why I love you all.

 

I am me again. With this move, and with my home, I've been able to exercise some of the biggest demons residing within me. I'm sure, from time to time, they'll revisit, but you know what? That's ok. Because they will only visit. They've no claim on me, nor on my home. Because its mine. All mine.

 

The best part of all of this? I finally feel comfortable sharing myself again. I'm not trying to cram too many people around a makeshift dinner-table-that's-actually-a-desk in an apartment in which I never felt comfortable. I can entertain. I can have people over in groups of more than two. We can sit at my dining room table or at my patio set. We can laugh and have beers while I cook on my new grill. We can sit around my idyllic, wooded yard and take in the serenity that emanates from a freedom I've not felt in a long, long time. And later we can snuggle onto my new family room furniture and watch movies and laugh some more. My house, my home, my life, each is meant to be shared. My door is open, proverbial or otherwise. So come visit. Come see me. Come spend a while in my home. Come share with me. I think you'll like the me you'll see.

 

I know I do.

 

 

© 2015 J.J. Goodman. All rights reserved.