The Day My Cat Died

I’ve created a new category titled Accidental Vagabond. This section is part of the answer to the question, how did I get here. How did I become an accidental vagabond? How is it that I am reposting a blog about the death of my cat while I am sitting in an a apartment in Seoul? How are theses things possible? Are they connected? Do they matter? It’s funny to think back on it, but the death of my cat was a starting point for returning back out into the world of travel. It didn’t happen right away, but a few years after Boo died I left the country. I had wanted to leave before, but my cat prevented it. Not that I couldn’t just give her to someone, and then go. I knew and know that’s possible, but I didn’t want to. I loved my cat, my pet, and I chose to stay in places where I was able to have her. That’s what happens to us in life. We make choices, and some of those choices mean giving up other things in life. We have pets, we get married, we have children, we decided to help our parents. There are many things that we choose for better or for worse, and at times we may wonder what would have happened if I made a different choice. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter if you made a different choice because you live in the choice you made, but that choice back then does affect you in the present. It built you. It’s part of your foundation.
After my cat died I was free to travel. I didn’t have to worry about her. There was a freedom, but I was happy to have spent the time I did with that precious animal. I know some people don’t think animals have much value in our lives, but for those of you who understand loving and caring for a pet, you know what I mean.
I’m reposting this as a reflection because I’m about to have a change in my life, a new pet. This time it is a different animal. A dog, and the dog is not mine, she belongs to my boyfriend. There are many choices being made, and this choice does affect my ideas of travel. In fact, many ideas or thoughts and day dreams have to change and adapt. I’ve chosen a man and his dog to be apart of my life. We are building a new life, and a new foundation together. I wonder, in a wonder without remorse, but purely curiosity, will we be able to travel the world as I fantasize? If so how? At least years from now I can check back to this post.

An Accidental Vagabond

My cat died today. She died in my arms. I hope it was the right choice, I hope she was ready. Its difficult to tell with animals. I wasn’t ready. I would never have been ready. I dug her grave this morning, and eerily and somewhat comically she watched. She even peered her head into the grave as I dug. At first I laughed, but then I told her it was too macabre and she should go. Then we watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind until the vet aka Dr. Death came. I didn’t want to let him in. It was all very fast. He said she was very weak and she probably would go fast and she did. She had a couple types of cancer and it was all a race to see which one would kill her first, and neither winner would be a pretty death. That…

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It all Begins with Quitting

The tag line of The Accidental Vagabond is how did I get here. When I wrote that I was just looking for a quick note to express something about the title, but now that I think about it, “How did I get here” is a perfect tag. That’s really what this blog is about: a long, journey to… I still don’t know. There are these moments in our life when things are spinning and we ask ourselves, when we reflect on our life, we ask, how did this happen? Those of us who journal have the advantage to look back (if we bother to) and actually see the path we took. This blog which started ten years ago serves exactly that purpose. Here I am now, living in South Korea, teaching English, living with my boyfriend, and planning a future with him that I hope involves writing and travel. So, how exactly did I end up in an Asian country that I never actually thought about visiting, and teaching English? What happened to acting, to writing, to “the novel”, or the first book that so many of these earlier posts are about, what happened? How did I get here? Well it all begins with this post about quitting. I was working for Jive software a collaboration software development company, and I could have stayed there and maybe worked my way into an other department (I was the front desk) and made some decent money. Yet, I had decided to quit, and write a book. In retrospect, I still am not convinced I was super smart about the decision, but there were also other factors in play.
The thing is, this point in time, this decision put me where I am right now, right at this very moment. I’m sitting in Itaewon, in Seoul. I have about an hour to getting ready before heading to work. In Seoul. In South Korea. I can hear the birds chirping outside, and the men working construction on an apartment a few winding blocks away. All of this is occurring at this moment because I quit my job at Jive software ten years ago. That’s life: a series of events set off by a series of decisions and choices.
I had seen some posts, not too long ago, on Facebook from some old Jive co-workers that Jive had been acquired by another company. See, everything changes. I can play in my mind a little about what life would have been like for me if I had stayed, but then again, it doesn’t really matter because this is where I am right now

An Accidental Vagabond

The other day I was listening to an archive of  This American Life and the topic was quitting. The first story was about a woman, Evan Harris, who wanted to quit everything. Quit her job, her city, her boyfriend, everything, but she didn’t know how to go about it. One day while at work she was alphabetizing files with a co-worker they began talking about the letter Q. Evan felt it was a misplaced letter in the alphabet and, oddly, that was the moment her life changed. I wont say more- you really should go listen to it for yourself, but I have decided that I love this woman. The fact that she felt that the letter q was in the wrong place is enough to fall in love, but her philosophy on quitting sealed the deal. She had created a zine which I’m not too sure if is still…

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I’m Still Here

As long as we can love each other, and remember the feeling of love we had, we can die without ever really going away. All the love you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on–in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here.

(Morrie Schwartz) tuesdays with Morrie, Mitch Albom

There is this line in the movie Poltergeist, the 1982 version, that the psychic, after they get Carol Anne back from the other side of the ghostly closet world, says out toward the camera, and hence to us the audience. “This house is clean.”

That sentence keeps circling in my head, this house is clean, this house is clean, this blog is clean. That’s pretty much how I’m feeling about this blog right now. I’ve been on about a year hiatus, which truthfully is not that unusual. If you’ve followed this blog at all you know that there are blog traffic destructive gaps in the writing. If you stopped following, I don’t blame you. I also don’t care. Not to sound like a jerk, but the only reason I am back here is because it finally occurred to me that I need to stop caring about you. Of course not in the real sense of not caring about people, but in the sense of trying to please you. The great big YOU out there in the audience. I will never be cool, hip, exciting, interesting, intelligent, or whatever other thing I need to be to impress you. I’m not going to build my audience. I’m not going to create a fan base, or a following, I’m not going to make any money here or some kind of a living here. I’m too overwhelmed and sometimes depressed (because I have depression so, you know, that’s the result of depression- gotta roll with it) to research how to have a great blog. Sometimes I look things up, like SEO’s and keywords, and I just can’t do it. I can’t. And finally, I’ve accepted that I don’t want to. This is because I discovered something while I was cleansing my blog. You see, I scoured through every single post I had ever written over the past- eleven years. I reorganized the entire thing. New categories, new template, and new focus. I reread many posts, and I trashed some posts (many posts) because they were not needed, and they did not fit into what it is that I have finally discovered I have been doing over the years.

This is a memoir. I hadn’t realized it till now, but it’s my memoir. It’s my history of the past eleven years of my life (and on till my death). I’ve decided, well, hell, I’d like to finish this book. So I reorganized, and I deleted, and I created categories that are really chapters, and I enjoyed the cleansing. I got rid of all of the pleading, because I could read it in my writing. I could hear the pleading in my voice. Please like me. Please like what I’m writing. You. You out there like me. Please save me and tell me I matter. All of that. I felt it come off the internet pages of this blog, like a noxious gas. A little sickening and a little sad. Palpable, tangible and so subconscious.

All of that was important. I needed to plead, and I needed to read and reflect on it all these years later with a kinder more compassionate self -perspective. I’m just a human. I needed to see that I had wanted to be more then just a simple human, and I wanted you to tell me; tell me that I was special. But, you never did. And I’m glad you didn’t because how would I learn? So, it’s changing. The voice is changing, and you, audience will either grow or remain the same or get smaller, but it doesn’t matter because I’m just here to write some stories. I’m on a journey to find out how I got here. How did a kid raised on welfare, with seemingly no chance of a decent future end up traveling and living in foreign countries? I want to know. I need to find out how. I’m curious as to know what happens next. Is it true we can write our lives? Let’s find out.

If you are reading this please forgive the mess. If you have ever seen Poltergeist you’ll know that even though she said the house was clean- it really wasn’t. There were still ghosts. Many ghosts. So, so many ghosts. In fact the entire family had to flee the home. They even got rid of the t.v.

Perhaps one day when I’m long dead this little time capsule of my life will resurface, and someone will learn something about what it was to live this little corner of my life. Perhaps not. Either way it doesn’t matter because I feel relief at finally seeing what this is all about. It’s about writing my own story.