It started with a couch.
This, overstuffed, double-wide, "Opium Den" couch, the kind of couch that deserves a name...a couch that has welcomed visitors and lulled them into a restful sleep, a couch that's wrapped itself around little bodies crumpled up in a fit of Pinot Grigio and Sara Bareilles induced tears and nostalgia, a couch that's encouraged friends to "sit still and stay awhile...." that's given room for friends to nestle up to one another, clutching onto each others knees and chatting about what they imagine their most "perfect scenario" would be, after they spilled every detail of their latest sexscapade and all the uncomfortable bits; unfamiliar body terrain and noises and a couch that's let strangers sit on opposite ends comfortably enough to relax and make a connection.......or in other cases, a couch that's been forgiving enough to let two seemingly damaged individuals "put it all aside for the night," imagine it never happened, order in Sesame Chicken and brush the fuzzies away from each others temples while watching The Breakfast Club for the first and the thousandth time.
Yeah...that's the kind of couch that deserves a name. But I never named her. Instead, I hugged her goodbye and I left her on the side of the street.
While I desperately NEEDED to get out of my previous situation (just SIX short months ago) away from memories of "him" and "us," into something that was solely MINE, something that would force me to get out of bed in the morning and engage with the world, I realized somewhere between nesting, watering newly planted roots and piling up Happy Hours with new friends, while navigating around the buzzing Startup community, in a growing company, with a desired job...that I was living someone's life that wasn't mine and wasn't guiding me in the direction of the life that WAS "perfectly made for me" and that I needed to get out before I took a literal saw to the couch and set it all on fire.
I looked around, one night at all my lovely things; the shabby chic coffee table that's paint was chipping off the corners, where coffee stains had easily made their way into circular patterns on the mint green paint, permanently, the love seat that I'd try to disappear into when I needed to "feel small," and the corner bookcase with books that had guided and inspired me....and then, the couch, THE COUCH, I looked at it all and thought, "It needs to go. It needs to go and so do I." I know, drama case....but don't worry, it DOES get more dramatic....
At some point while deciding that I was now a minimalist, ME, a girl who enjoys STUFF....while manically throwing my furniture and a significant amount of my clothing on the street.....
.... I also decided to quit my job.
It just seemed like the right choice. It wasn't JUST the furniture, just the town, or just the job....it was really just ME. Sounds sort of like a bad breakup line, but as bad as the line may be, sometimes that's just the truth. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect scenario, really; built-in support, built-in friends, a tailor made schedule, mentors, a radical job, amazing people....a town that looks like Santa Claus and all other fabled creatures probably spent romantic weekends roaming it's streets before they were a full blown fairytale. Where people practically have a direct line to Buddha, or the Maharishi, or Shirley MacLaine (hi, weird SEO searches) and they'll probably welcome you into their home, make you a green smoothie that makes your skin glow, and then give you a back massage while reading your horoscope and spoon feeding you cous cous. All lovely, all great...all just......not. quite. right. for me, right now.
I'd fled "us," only to find that I'd also fled a major part of ME. The Chelsea who used to write songs and confidently jump on stage when there was a free mic and a free moment for the spotlight. I'd left behind the Chelsea who knew what she imagined her future would look like, even if she didn't know how she was going to get there.....The Chelsea who didn't need approval, or a hectic social life to feel like a motherfucking rockstar. The Chelsea who was scrappy enough to "make it happen," to keep asking, to show up, to be in the right place at the right time and to pour just enough gasoline on the fire to keep hustling. The Chelsea who left a suitcase packed by the door, who made travel plans and dreamed up superstar apparitions.
...I'm sort of the, "throw your furniture on the street, quit your job and risk losing your friends and THEN FIGURE IT OUT" kind of girl and sure enough, that philosophy always works out for me.
Not only does it work out.....it transcends any idea I would've come up, because I wouldn't have believed in enough magic for it all to "work out," but I DID have the seed of the belief and that seed was just enough faith to leap before I knew how to operate the parachute.
Starting Friday, I will be back on the gypsy trail and back on a path that makes me feel like I'm coated in gold glitter and perma-grinning while dancing to a Robyn song on repeat in my head. I have a few opportunities on the line that could be life changing and trips/potential moving plans to LA, NYC and SF and I've taken on some incredible freelance gigs that give me both mobility, freedom and creative license, with more than enough time for me to pursue the things I adore, with GUSTO, even if that means spending hours upon hours meeting my muse, digging for inspiration or doing semi-pointless creative projects just to see if I CAN. If it means napping until 1, or eating olives all day while learning the art of calligraphy, then so be it. I know that right now, it's the right choice for me.
So, here's to honoring the little voice that tells you to leap.......Cheers loves.
What's your next adventure???