Missing Home While I'm Still Here

  I am drawn to the ocean. As the reality of embarking to run across the country sinks in, my stomach does backflips. I find myself thinking about leaving the things that I love. Pelicans snapping at fisherman on the pier, surfers coming out of the water all smiles and invigoration and dripping with salt and sunshine, and the most beautiful romance you could ever imagine. I feel a chicken bone in my throat, like I am constantly am trying to swallow bad news. 

Yeah, I know, how dramatic. I mean, it's only 100 days. It's not forever. But the enormity of the challenge I have taken on makes it apparent that after the run is over, my life (as I know it) will be over. Or at least unrecognizable. This is a good thing, and I'm not complaining. Trust me, I need it. I need to finish this run, if I don't do anything else for the rest of my life. 

It is foreign to me to physically long for and miss something that is right in front of me. I think this is what they call attachment. I don't want to say goodbye to everything that I love, but I've come to terms with the fact that I will be different when I return, and thus everything will be seen through a different set of eyes, and will carry new meaning. 

 When I look at all my paintings, my life's work, I feel as if they were created by a different person entirely. I miss her. I miss the carefree artist who never returns calls or keeps her phone on her, who travels to foreign countries at the drop of a hat. I miss spending all day behind my canvas, listening to audiobooks and immersing myself in a world of thought and creativity.

But my art wasn't doing the trick, I guess.  I failed at being a painter. I wanted to change the world, and all I could do was make beautiful things. So, I'm trying something new. Running across the US is my performance art, my demonstration to the world that change, community and pushing past your own limitations can be possible. Well, at least you can try.

It took me a little longer to grow up than I anticipated, and I somehow feel that this run will be my rite of passage. 

Of course, the journey has already begun.

And, it's flipping awesome.