Lost. Found.

2013 marks the year I felt completely lost and utterly isolated.

Have you ever felt just lost?

It’s been a long time now since I moved to Nashville.  Quite honestly, I’ve never felt at home here. Never got used to living in Tennessee.  But this is where I met my Patrick.  Just when I had one foot out of this state ready to hit the road to anywhere but Nashville.  Along comes Patrick who just stopped me in my tracks.  Love was the last thing on my mind then.

My love, Patrick, is a wonderful and kind husband.  An amazing husband.  Extraordinary.  The kind of man where you would envy the girl who called him husband.  And he’s mine.  I’m blessed beyond measure.  Love is all there is.  Love is ALL.

But what about the love of family and friends back home in another land?  What about the love of your roots and hometown?  What about that deep affinity and connection to a place.  That place that makes you feel alive no matter if it was the most challenging struggle of your life.  It’s where your family for generations stepped foot off a ship, born, bred and made the soil and streets part of your heritage.

I’ve experienced some things in the motorcycle industry that were very disheartening and surely was the mark that a new culture and industry had arrived that had nothing to do with the brotherhood and sisterhood and the love of the road.  It had everything to do with out doing, climbing over and crushing people to get ahead.

Ahead of what?

All of these things I found really sad.  I did so love working in the motorcycle culture but it’s changed incredibly so and I’ve made up my mind to only bond with those who just simply love riding and those who truly love the road life and expanding their road families and giving and sharing this extraordinary love for two wheels and the open road.

I’m making it a goal this year to find me again.  To get back to me and move onward into adventure and purpose again.  To reconnect with the deep spiritual seeds that are planted, but waiting for water and nourishment from rolling in the wind.

There are many things that have contributed to me feeling so disconnected and disengaged from the core of who I am.  A lot has to do with this isolation living here in the south and not jiving with the culture.  I’m a New Yorker and I adore my heritage as such.  I don’t like being made to feel guilty because of my northern accent.

Also what about the love of the road and my motorcycle, Tigerlily, who’s my life blood and reason for breathing and singing and living.. she is dormant.  She sits as I sit.  Still.  When I get on her, we want to roll far away from here like a pair of wild gypsies and live off the land like ol’ days.  It’s not that we want to roll far away from LOVE and Patrick, just far away from HERE.  This place in time.   Why don’t I take to the open road like the ol days living in New York?  Well, I’m married now with a household to tend to and also must tend to my husband’s studio operations to help keep the business growing.   Plus, there’s tending to my beloved puppy son, Floody and kitty daughter, GypZ.  Maybe there’s a way to get Floody on the road with me?? GypZ hates to leave her palace.  Floody’s gamed for anything.

I keep a photograph of myself riding Tigerlily out there in the Badlands hanging in the hallway so that I see it everyday.  Well, at my Christmas party here in Nashville, several folks commented on it, totally stunned that the photograph was me and there I was wild, free, my long long hair all tattered and tangled and my grin was deep and not tied to anything except the moment.   I was still living in New York then.  I was wearing crazy glitter pants and a white tank top with no bra.

The person standing before them telling them about the photo spoke with a longing to be her in that photograph.  She was wearing glasses, her hair was hanging as sad and dull as her face.  She was wearing baggy, dumpy clothes.  She had on no makeup.  She was tired and withdrawn and cooking and cleaning and serving at the party.  She chose to do all the work because then she could hide and not have to talk too much to the guests who she really didn’t know.  She gazed longingly at that photo as she explained about the person with the wild eyes and crazy grin staring back at everyone.   As she wrapped up her story to the folks gathered ’round, she straightened the frame out and said, “Yeah, I so miss her.”

Folks.  That person was me talking about me.

So lost.  I must be found.

This month marked the first time my heath became unsteady and mysterious.  This week I’m going for a battery of tests to determine WTF is going on.  Maybe it’s simply a starving soul manifesting physically?  I can proudly say that I’m rarely ever sick and I’m strong and healthy.  But these last couple of months something isn’t right at all.  The loss of living strong is scary.  These are things that make me have a desire to live deeply and passionately again.  To chase the unconventional and be that crazy, adventurous and spirited New York artist girl riding her Harley.

 

 

Click on pen to Use a Highlighter on this page

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *