Coming home to myself changes everything.
A month ago I set out from Vermont. Headed back to Oregon after a five year absence.
It was 1pm, 8 degrees F, and the wind was fiercely blowing up the snow into near blizzard conditions.
That morning I had had more people at my house than I had in the 16 months I lived there. Neighbors came for furniture, the mover guys were back to clean out the junk. My realtor showed up to talk about selling the house. And the freight guy was the last in to drive away the trailer with my stuff.
My car was already packed. The new comfy car seat was installed in the front seat for Forrest, my dog. The back seat and the rear of my Rav4 was piled to almost too high. And to my deep relief, the car started despite the temperature.
As I pulled out of the driveway for the last time, the Rolling Stones were croning, "Time, time, time is on my side!"
I had only a moment hesitation. And that was more about making sure I had everything. I had donated the pieces of obsidian the house wanted when I arrived to the forest. I had already pulled up my roots and made room in the car load for Bright Waters, my water sprite, and the bubble people who had originally welcomed me to my Vermont home to come along on my new journey.
I knew the biggest issue was that I didn't have the teleporter set up yet so that I would have to endure an in-real-life transition from Vermont to Oregon.
I was on the road from December 30 to January 6. A very out-of-time experience. I thought I might stop along the way, take a couple of days here and there. Instead the urge every morning was to get as close to Oregon as I could by end of day. In order, I went through these states: Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Idaho, and, after 3818 miles arrived in The Dalles, Oregon on the afternoon of Tuesday, January 6.
The road weather app I found really helped me plan my trip. Originally I thought I'd go to California and then go north. However, with lots of rain along I-5 in CA, I followed the route my daughter had taken a year before when she debunked from Oklahoma back to the Pacific Northwest.
The last day, I left Jerome, Idaho situated at about 4400 feet above sea level. By the time I passed Pendleton, OR, I was down in the Columbia River valley at about 300 feet above sea level. There was about 95 miles of road in Oregon that was all at a 6% down slope. I used my brakes and told myself that I was strong and fearless and could definitely do this in the fog and clouds--thankful that there was no snow on the ground. I will say that I probably need to get a brake job for my car.
When I saw the Welcome to Oregon sign, I felt my body relax, let go, release the tension. When I saw my daughter, I knew in my soul what I had known that ignited the motion: I need her in my life; I was right to come.
After two days in The Dalles with her, I headed south to a little town about an hour south of Portland. One of my students had very awesomely offered me his home as a stopping point. And since he was in Hawaii when I arrived, he had set it up that Forrest and I could get in and ... stop.
My goal back in December for this move and the sabbatical was clear and direct: Do what I love to do and, if I don't know what that is, think about what I love to do to guide me toward doing what I love to do.
Three thousand miles is plenty of time to think on this goal. What do I enjoy? What feels like an anchor dragging me down? What feels onerous? What brings joy? What premise have I held without question? What happens if I question that premise?
The first thing I had to work out in my mind: what the heck was Vermont all about? Which began with me trying to economically justify that motion in a way I always think I gotta do. So question that premise, drop the need for economic justification as the only path to satisfactorily explain my life. What I came to was this: moving to Vermont was like living abroad for 16 months. Lots came from this experience and definitely a way that northeast Vermont was a foreign country to me. Stepping away from justification, nothing else needs to be true.
And thus the same is true for Oregon. Economic justification is not necessary. Simply, my heart is drawn there/here. Go. Stay.
In this awareness came the very real experience of disconnection. Especially disconnection of me from me. And this feeling wasn't about geographical location. This was about personal relationships. Specifically, the obvious destruction of familial ties that occurred in the last three years and particularly in the wake of my father's passing back in March 2025.
And this was a rather scary realization: I disconnect from myself to manage grief, anger, derision, judgment, demands. Like when someone wants me to do or be something I don't want to do or be, especially if the demand comes from family, I disconnect in order to do or be the whatever. And that this past fall, I had to disconnect in order to process the grief of this and weirdly I had to disconnect in order to do the thing I most wanted to do: go be me. All because this don't do me was the family message to me most of my life.
So in all those hours in the car, making my way across the USA, I was re-connecting. Like an old switch board operator plugging in the cords so connection and communication happens. And when I crossed the border into Oregon, I realized how severely I had underestimated my need to return. And there are probably all kinds of reasons why – and I don't need to go through them or figure them out because only one reason really matters to me. Here ... I am happy and completely connected. Here, now, I am fully me.
And since my re-entry, I have been doing what really makes me happy: creating. Lots of really cool stuff. Lots of awesome, exciting ideas and thoughts coming into my world. All of which I am excited to share with all of you. And not yet. Soon.
Officially I've been on sabbatical since December 13, 2025 and plan on returning beginning of March 2026.
I was a bit concerned when I made this choice, that the result might be that I wouldn't come back. That I would find that other bits of my life needed to shift or be retired or be resolutely vanquished.
Maybe about Tennessee, when the temperature was getting consistently into the 50s and I wasn't feeling the impending doom of freezing winter weather, I started thinking about what I have done and what I like doing within all of that and what I might want to keep.
What I realized is that it's not that I don't like the teaching and sharing and learning. Rather it has to do with volume and my tendency to want to please people.
The good news is that I will be back. And things will be different and yet much the same. Instead of a teacher who writes, I am now a publisher/creator/writer who also teaches. Which in a sense might not be that big of a difference. But it is important because this is me doing me – just me.
Because when I really get down to what makes me happy, it's me sharing me. Me thinking this is so cool I want to share it with folks who find it cool, too. Being me makes me happy. And when I'm happy I create a space around me for everyone else to be themselves being happy.
And isn't that what we are all trying to do: get out of our own ways? And that sometimes it's hard to even claim your happiness and yourself because it shouldn't be so simple. That life should be hard and demanding and require brutal personal strength to be all that you desire and that you can't have what you desire if you don't work hard at it. Isn't that what intelligence and soul depth is about: hard work!??
However, the hardest work is letting go of all the expectations and demands and beliefs that hard work is necessary. Instead, the "work" is to learn to be present to you in the moment, to be aware within your body, mind, heart, and soul to find you and be happy. And that life is never a destination and you don't get the journey done.
Instead, you walk your life and pause every now and then to take in the moment and be present to you in the moment. Maybe there is something to learn. Maybe there is something to reflect upon. Maybe something noodling around in the background needs release. Maybe the edges of the unknown are pushing at you to see the you in the moment and not the you that was.
What changes is your perspective, your understanding, your truth. What doesn't change is the focal point of your journey. Your focus is you, each day and in every moment.
While driving cross country is a great way to uncover both presence and focus, as I sit right now gazing out the window at the waves of the Pacific Ocean, no matter where I am, I know that when I stay with me, I give myself the chance to be me, no explanations necessary.
And when you come home to you, you open the door to connection with others. You set the table to share, to break bread, to witness, and to learn.
Life is good. And I'm home with me.
In Joy!
Cheryl
