Exile...

In my last post, I noted how I was wrestling with the choice of staying in Chicago or leaving to go work with the poor in Jamaica and until I purchased my plane ticket, the option of backing out was still viable. I’m moving things forward and my first stop is New England for a visit with mom and dad. After that I will continue my trek down to the island nation of Jamaica as soon as all of the necessary pieces are put in place. (Right now, that looks like initial contact with some folks down there, but we’re working on it)

So here I sit on the eve of my…

I am not entirely sure how I would classify my leaving Chicago: exile, retreat, sabbatical, evacuation? I have always thought of exile as a bad thing, a punishment or ousting of someone who wasn’t really liked by a whole lot of people; think Napoleon or Jean-Bertrand Aristide. More specifically I am reminded of a passage in Dante’s, “The Devine Comedy”:

“…Thou shalt leave each thing
Beloved most dearly: this is the first shaft
Shot from the bow of exile.”

Maybe it is a little of all of them. Regardless, I am aware that I am choosing to take my leave of the place that I have learned to call home over the last eight years in order to explore an idea which was first introduced to me in high school but lingered in the back of my mind because I never had the guts to act on it.

So much excitement surrounds this choice and yet I don’t want to leave. This is home. I have settled here and it is familiar, comfortable, safe. Yes, I am experiencing emotional strife right now, but would it be better to lick my wounds here than on a tropical island where I won’t know anyone? (Given the fact that winter is about to arrive in Chicago, that question may seem pretty dumb but trust me, there is some comfort in the idea of having a circle of support in the cold over the idea of a solitary effort in the tropics.)

This past weekend I moved my entire life into a 9’ x 10’ room in my uncle’s house (Huge thanks to you, Jim, for your generosity) and that has me grappling with polarized thoughts. On the one hand, I feel a personal sense of pride for such a minimalist life in the face of gargantuan consumerism – even though I still feel like I have way too much ‘stuff.’ On the other hand, I have this nagging sense of, “I’m 31 and this is all I have to show for it, eh?” It’s like the angel and devil on opposing shoulders, although I’m not sure of who is speaking which idea.

Side note about my uncle: He is a realtor in the city, quite possibly one of the best there is given the fact that he’s been in the field for 20 years. If you need a realtor, click here. Jim’s your man.

After that, I had only to handle some final appointments and the usual loose ends to tie up: haircut, voting and mail forwarding (huge thanks to Mr.& Mrs. Kevin Dombrowski for that one). Tonight I doled out hugs and kisses on those closest to me, be them bipeds or quadrupeds, and tomorrow I will take a final look at that glorious skyline and wait to see what the dice have in store for me. With any luck, it will look like this part of a prophecy of the Hopi Elders which was recently sent to me by a dear friend:

This could be a good time! There is a river flowing now very fast.
It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.
They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being
torn apart and will suffer greatly.

Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of
the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes
open, and our heads above the water.