Transition

In one of my favorite books, White Oleander by Janet Fitch, the opening scenes paint a picture of an autumn night in California, the Santa Ana winds blowing in despair.

In Wisconsin, the wind blows hardest when the seasons change.

I don’t know what it’s like to sit on the roof of my house and look at a hazy moon while desert and ocean alike clamor for my attention.

But I do know what it feels like to listen to the wind.

I, for one, have never been afraid of an oncoming storm; rather, I stand outside and watch it approach, lifting my face to clouds of steel and ire while the wind lashes my cheeks.

There is something about the shifting of the wind, the falling of the leaves, the turn of the seasons in the state I’ve called home for my entire life that matches the state of my soul.

Before I turned 18, I had moved over 20 times. There were times when I didn’t even really have a home. I’ve slept in cars and crashed with friends. I’ve left houses in the middle of the night, slipping beneath the stars with a bag in hand, not knowing if I’d ever return.

When I was offered a job in the town in which I attended high school, I was sure my return would signal a settling. “Home at last,” I wanted to sigh.

Instead, I drove these streets haunted by ghosts that refused to die. Perpetually 17 and confused, I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t settle. I had done all the things I thought I was supposed to do, in the order I thought I was supposed to do them. What went wrong? Why was I still living, acting, and thinking as I had done so many years ago?

Why was I still in so much pain?

These are questions I no longer care to answer.

On the eve of my leaving, an event 10 years in the making, I found myself on my front steps. It was dark. The wind was restless around me, never coming from the same direction twice. A few cold raindrops hit my shoulders as I sat and waited for a wave of grief. Shouldn’t I be sad to be leaving a place I had stayed for so long? Shouldn’t it mean something?

I closed my eyes and listened.

And I felt protected. I felt supported. I felt peace.

I am not scared of these autumn winds. I am not afraid to sit in the night, in the dark, and let them wash over me. They are not ushering in a winter of despair.

They are calling me home.