I've been very public about my one-foot-in, one-foot-out relationship with my Florida home. The past month or two I've been shedding these fears and falsehoods that are keeping me in this state of limbo. This in-between state is far more uncomfortable than any negative scenario I could come up with for making a change.
That energy is gone now. In the pure space that is left, only the truth remains, which rings loud, clear and uncompromising: this house in Pensacola is my home.
I've known this for some time, but the reality hits different now. No excuses, no compromise. This is my home and I need to act on this. This week, and the past two months, I've been consciously and unconsciously creating a real home for myself. I have a gym in Pensacola, World Gym. And I like it better than the UFC gym in Torrance, which is noisy, crowded and poor energy.
I have regular walking trails, which I enjoy more than the ones in Torrance and Redondo Beach. I found a balance between fishing, which was a bypass to avoid taking actual measures, and building a life. It's no longer about "bringing home fish," it's about enjoy myself in nature, eating what I catch and living a good, balanced life.
I found a chill coffee shop to write and a nice bar to hang out. And I enjoy both without drinking alcohol or coffee.
All of these things I could have done in Torrance, but instead wallowed in withdrawal and "waiting for things to get better."
I have a better, more balanced life here in Pensacola than I have had for years in Torrance. Basically since covid I haven't invested anything in Torrance. And why should I? It sucks. I hate it there. It's not my home. This is.
And guess what? Waiting around for things to get better is a waste of time. Nothing's going to get better on its own "down the road." Better to deal with the problems now than wait. Sure, I can say I needed to stay in Torrance for my son, and that's true. But nobody was making me sit around, be bored and do nothing but "wait" for things to get better. That was my own small self, which has burned away, along with a lot of other bullshit.
I can smell the lingering scent of incinerated BS and victorious black flame.
And "this" home is more than a house in Florida. It's more than a lifestyle. It's a whole new mandate, a whole new (or newly cleansed) architecture. Here there is no "middle way," no "in between," just an unflinching truth that waits for nobody. That is my home.
And what does that mean for my spiritual work? Same thing, no BS. No ego attachment, no ego to attach to. Nothing but the truth that was always there but often ignored or distorted.
Maybe the change will be subtle. Maybe it'll be dramatic. Maybe I won't recognize myself and neither will anyone else. Maybe none of that matters.
This is home, and I'm moving in.
