"Reconstruction of a new life is a lofty endeavour as you say goodbye to yourself and try to find out who you are all at once. Parts cling to what can’t be, while parts fly off in unattainable proportions to holding on. The twice born is such a gentle way to phrase it all. So if I have had to say goodbye to myself, unable to hold all that held me then, why on earth wouldn't I now do what lights my heart on fire? My sense of wander grew immeasurably after she died, and it is one of the only parts of the old me that I have left."
I pulled into my driveway in early October upon my return from the Rockies and ordered up a ladder as my first order of business. It had been a real hassle trying to find the right place for my Starlink and although there was a roof mount, it’s inaccessible position left a lot to be desired. More importantly, it had left me dependant on help. The ladder was being delivered just across the pond in Vancouver and I rolled on to the ferry to go retrieve it. Upon hitting the mainland my trip got cut off at the knees as It was then I noticed my build lights where not working and my battery monitor was a blank screen. It was late, I was set to head to Squamish and I would be unable to cook, keep myself warm, charge my devices etc. On my 4th week of Pneumonia I, as usual, was pushing myself as I missed life on the road. I rolled back onto the ferry, ladder in tow, got back to the condo and went to bed after rounding some troops for a daylight assessment on what had happened to my power. The following days with no success, Liv and I drove 2 and half hours to the Comox Valley to visit the builder and have the van assessed. The electrician, his body half hanging out the back of my van muttered from the inside, “no. oh. no. no. all wrong. not good. ok. no.” then wiggled his body out, his head shaking, “not good. not good.” and they broke it to me. My batteries were dead, my inverter salvageable, and the entire system by the previous electrician, was hooked up completely wrong. I became the DIY Vanbuild Poster girl on what NOT to do. They unhooked the batteries to keep them a while to see if they would be able to hold any charge and I drove away, powerless.
What followed was more mud in my landslide. The batteries dead, the DC/DC burnt a hole in my starter battery and nearly caught my van on fire, resulting in a emergency wiring removal in the mercedes parking lot at night. The laundry list was long and the repair was costly. But what hit me most was time. Having just come off the road and trying to navigate full time remote work and van life I was stowed in Bragg Creek parking lots, driving in circles midday to top up my power, and searching for Starlink connections in Kananaskis. But I was happy. I would log off and throw my paddle board in the water and tour around the upper lakes hugged by the Rockies. Owls hooted me to sleep and fresh air was always in my lungs. In the morning, my laptop propped on my workstation, I watched the morning mist burn off the side of the mountains as it changed colour. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Liv was benched in Comox and I was cast back into the conventional corporate waters of a life ordinary. Pneumonia was my only hinderance to fighting against it all, as I could barely get out of bed.
The days became typical. Routine was scripted into my life and the robotic senses of waking up to my alarm, taking the dog out, making a chai and sitting at my desk all day was on repeat. Liv sat in limbo awaiting her transformation while I sunk deep into a familiarity that slowly chipped away at my happiness. I tried to shake myself but nothing was enough to clear the consumed feelings of normalcy. With my mind in refusal and my body in submersion, time felt wasted. I began to doubt my sense of wander and if It was normal that I want to move around and can't seem to find my footing when life sits me down. Then I remember that life sat me down and handed me a new life.
Barry Corbet said it best when he wrote, "We are the twice born." NOTHING rings truer except maybe, we have no other way to survive. Now, while I’d much prefer the term courageous to hero I don’t want to re-shape Barry’s words.
Transcendence out of death and its collateral damage is a slow pitch game. It could never be fastball or the casualties would also be catastrophic. Your body and mind hold back and release at safe moments as much as the nervous system can allow without overwhelming the overwhelming force of suffering.
We are in ABSOLUTE FACT the twice born. Reconstruction of a new life is a lofty endeavour as you say goodbye to yourself and try to find out who you are all at once. Parts cling to what can’t be while parts fly off in unattainable proportions to holding on. The twice born is such a gentle way to phrase it all. So if I have had to say goodbye to myself, unable to hold all that held me then, why on earth would I not now do what lights my heart on fire? My sense of wander grew immeasurably after she died, and it is one of the only parts of the old me that I have left.
Liv returned home months later. Her same old comforting ways, but with a brand new rebuilt electrical system. She had been through a lot with the battery fire and it felt good to know she was well and safe. I drove her back to the south island from Comox with a pit stop at camp for good measure. Willow and I spent the night in the forest, rain hitting her roof as we snuggled up in the sleeping bag. As it should be.
Life on the island has been a challenge so I have decided to sell my house. I am ready for some slow wide life turns towards the Rockies. I am ready to spend more time with myself in the place that keeps me grounded as I keep rolling. Liv & the road. Both of us, twice born.
With metta,
L.
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