A Question of Authenticity

A definition of authenticity that I really like is this: “having the origin supported by unquestionable evidence.”

I may be making things happen in my life, but it was my parents who made it possible. That is a fact for which I feel unspeakable gratitude.

As I have been working towards my most immediate goal of getting my house sold, and my car sold, and everything I own gone, I have been enjoying new revelations every day. Its starting to dawn on me, really seriously become a reality for me, that I am turning my entire world on its head. In 6 months my life will look NOTHING like it did 6 months ago. While I enjoyed the process of deciding to do it, I am starting to unravel my reasons for doing this so that I truly understand my choices.

A few people mentioned to me in Morocco that I presented myself as being very authentic. A lovely complement and appreciated. I try to be authentic. I don’t play games, I gave up drama a long time ago, and I pretty much tell it like it is. But as it turns, I have not been living in an authentic way. At all. Not even close. I have been following social norms for years, but as it turns out, there is nothing socially normal about me. Not one thing. And that fact, is my fault line.

I chose to spend a lot of my time with parents. We travelled a lot together, I visited more often than most adult kids, I took care of things for them for a long time. And that was perfectly fine with me. I tried to get married once and it just wasn’t for me. But then I went ahead and set myself up to live the life that is the social norm.  I don’t have kids, but I have a house big enough for a large family. I don’t have a husband but I live in a place that requires two people to properly take care of it. I am not connected to schools, or activities or the raising of children, yet I live in the suburbs surrounded by kids. I have bear paws and juice boxes on hand at all times. I’ve sat in hockey arenas, skated in them, tied laces in them, bought 50/50 tickets and watched many a game or skating show. But I was there because thats where I needed to go to spend time with my friends. I don’t want a house in the suburbs with an SUV big enough for kids and their stuff but that’s exactly what I’ve got. So weird.

I want to live in a place where things are different. Where Christmas is not a thing. (That alone is perfect!) I want to decide if I should go to Lisbon and Turkey next month. I want to figure out new things, with some new people, and see what happens. I want to live in Marrakech and discover the city one block at a time. Bit by bit. I want to walk around every single day and see something I’ve never seen before. I want to find my way in a place with no idea of what that way looks like. If I decide I don’t like Marrakech, maybe in the process I will discover some other little place on earth that needs me. All I really know is that I need to start living like a smart, single woman, who has a shit load of experience and knowledge, an unquenchable thirst for new things, new places, and new people. I want to explore and see and taste. And thanks to some really good decisions in along the way and two people who did an awesome job at raising me, I am able to make these choices.

I love my good, good friends who will always be my good, good friends. No matter where I live. Things really won’t change that much. Just my time zone in relation to yours. We have chapters to be written together still. Fear not. Really great new chapters.

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