I’m listening to a song by Rob Dougan (and you should too), and for those of you who are Matrix fans, you owe this man for one of the best songs from that movie. His album, “Furious Angels” still rocks. Anyway.

My theme song right now is “I’m Not Driving Anymore”, and I haven’t been for some time, especially the past couple of months. I do believe I’m walking, and in fact, at times, skipping, dancing, strolling merrily along my way. But I’m a little…. uneasy. And not all-together here.

My body is in Chicago, my heart in Oaxaca, and my stuff is in Nashville. Help?

I own the stuff I brought in my bags with me from Oaxaca. I’m selling the stuff that’s in Nashville. I gave away some stuff in Oaxaca before I came back up, because I didn’t need them.

Why am I doing this? What the frack am I doing?

*sigh*

I’m writing now because I think it’s important to show the weak times as well as the strong. And so, today, here’s a weak one – and it’s based on this: I am still very much in the hole financially, in terms of loose ends that need to be closed, and in terms of the goals that I must reach before even attempting to return to Oaxaca.

I am weak now, because that age-old friend, Mr. D. Oubt and his cousin The Great Unknown™, have quietly come beside me, and begun their ever-generous whisperings of wondering. What if I don’t find work before the end of May? What if I don’t teach at all this summer? What if August comes and I still haven’t hit the level I need to in the account to please the gods of immigration? What if another jaw-dropping job opportunity comes up? And then it spins from there… what if I go down there and I realize I’m not really there? What if I get denied on my FM3 visa? What if, what if what if what if

And then words, in the firm voice of such disciplined confidence I always respected, break through all the muttering, chattering and whispering.

Rule #1: Be where you are.

If there’s one thing that has stuck out to me from all the things my dad told me, it was Rule #1. And he meant it. It always struck me that when dad was doing ANYTHING, he was THERE, doing THAT. If he was in a bike race, or training, or working on his bike, or driving, or singing, or teaching, or watching a movie, or the news, or even something so trivial, mundane as mowing the lawn… whatever it was, he was there – focused on the task, and more often than not, working on it till it was completed.

I am the opposite. I have so many incompletes there are times they keep me up at night – and it is often one of the main reasons I don’t WANT to sleep – because what if tomorrow doesn’t come? I’m not finished! I’m not done! Just one more line of code, one more line of music, one more chord here, one more thought on this problem, one more email, one more text one more ZzzzZzzzzZzzzz….

So I have tried to focus, although it’s been challenging trying to answer so many questioning, shocked faces of recognizing I’m in Chicago, not Oaxaca, that it’s been only two months, not six, and that the next words out of my mouth “I’m here for four months” don’t make sense, and take explanation for understanding.

I can only hope that I’ll have work to focus on soon, to take me away from the daydreamingness of another land, a mind distracted, disenchanted with current surroundings. Until then, I must be where I am. I must BE here in Chicago. I must complete tasks at hand, goals set before me, obligations still warranting attention. And hopefully, I’ll complete them well – as I intended the first time I went down to Mexico.

120 hours here. 120 days till there.