"oh man. it's real."

those were the words in response to the two word text i sent the boy that said, i'm packed.


yes, finished packing, 2 weeks early. as in, every plate, piece of silverware, sock scrap, pillow, and expired bottle of dayquil that i have deemed still useable has been wrapped, boxed, sealed, and labeled. i am left with access only to my grandmother's pristine cherry red suitcase with its fading gold MSL monogram, which carry the temporary life necessities.

or the things that make me comfortable, rather. (hi bear! we're going on an adventure!)


i was in such a torrent to do it, to begin, that suddenly i was finished and then i stood there and said to myself, what now?

now it's just waiting. now it's real.

i wondered why i began so early. sometimes i worry i'm rushing too much. that i make too many plans, so many plans, that i can't enjoy where i am. i can't unfold in a way that's organic, but rather become this automaton shifting between scheduled social engagements on my google calendar.

i stand in my room that was once so many colorful and silly representations of myself and the things that i love, which is now just piles of boxes with hastily-written labels. i thought about being a kid. i thought about the days i was so panicked about school, so ready to be there in the morning, that i tried to sleep in my clothes. i would put on my outfit-- even then, always a dress-- and slide atop the sheet and blanket and lie overly still beneath that floral comforter, which mirrored my sister's twin one to my left.

i kept my arms tucked under the covers, which, in retrospect, was a dead giveaway. i was never an arms-under-the-comforter kind of girl. it was too hot and restrictive and even then i slept just the same as i live-- wild and hot and never without movement. i have always been an arms-out kind of girl.

and then kate would tell on me. beth is wearing her school clothes.

god it made me mad. it made me fucking furious.  (sorry kate! those are strong words. i love you. i'm not mad at you anymore.) 

i just wanted to be ready for school. i wanted to wake up and leap out of bed and be ready. i wanted to be ready for the next thing. i wanted to not be late. i wanted to be where i was going next.

i have always struggled to find the balance between foresight and preparation, and simply being present in the moment. how do you look where you're going, but also notice where you are? how do you stay aware of what's ahead of you, but also not trip on the thing right beneath you?

where am i now?

this is where i am. i'm on my bed in a room that's filled with things. now they are just things. they are things in boxes with labels. fabric and wood and cardboard and plastic and ink. they are an organized amalgamation of things that are both me and entirely absent of me. any portion of them could not make it to my destination and i would probably never miss them. 

this morning i sat and drank a cup of coffee in the first place the boy and i ever shared a coffee, a piece of toast, and the feeling of first morning together-- of everyday life. i sat even though i'm going to santa barbara today and it's my first instinct to leave as early and hurriedly as possible.

i sat and nothing miraculous or terrible happened. i drank a cup of ethiopian in honor of my love. willie nelson played on the radio. a baby waved at me, while waiting in line, and i told her how wonderful it is to be naturally exuberant without caffeine. i looked at the cars driving down divisadero. i wrote some words on a piece of paper. i was, for one very small moment, amidst all the commotion of this particular time and my life and my person in general, still and alone and not going anywhere. i felt all the feelings whirling around inside me, bouncing off the walls of my skin, threatening to spill out, and i told myself, be calm. be where you are.

a tiny piece of life happened. i waited and i will still get home. the miles will pass between san francisco and santa barbara and my parents will still love me and it will still become friday and i will have what i need and in ten small days, i will still get in the cupcake truck and move to louisville.

my terror has subsided and turned mostly into thrill and exhilaration and impatience. but i will try to take these ten days-- my whole life, rather-- and be always and exactly only where i am. i will think about where i'm going without losing where i am. i will anticipate what's to come without forgetting what is. i will be beth, who is now. beth amongst the boxes. beth in between. beth in love.