I’m just beginning to feel the calming effects of the klonopin I took after dinner to calm me down to the point where I could perhaps escape nervous diarrhea and steady my monkey mind so I can have a reasonably normal evening with my 12 year old son and my husband.
Some may find it odd that I am going to central america for a full month, leaving behind a sixth grader and a workaholic husband. I’m not running away. Rather, I’m running towards myself.
The last few years of work that utilized my skills as an attorney and government agency director began to eat my soul. The trial attorneys could not attack my work as an expert witness so they attacked me personally. It was a vicious game that kept me until all hours of the night and ended with me being privy to attorney’s lying and breaking ethical rules, and outright being asked to lie myself. The work was traumatizing me. Over six years, I could not find a way to do it without collapsing in bed for three days afterward, feeling as though I had been sacrificed to some evil Gods.
Close to a break down, I had to to back off. I tried ways to incorporate my love of painting into my life, but did not have big enough blocks of time to hone my skills. I tried writing stories but there too, I suffered from a lack of clear direction and too much legal writing and not enough creative writing.
I knew I was at a crossroads. Little spa trips weren’t cutting it. I was pulled to the beautiful beaches where my family and I spent holidays. I needed more time and freedom to explore my bliss as Joseph Campbell would say. My husband surprisingly agreed and as fearful as I am, off I go. I’ve traveled a lot in my lifetime, to many exotic countries when I was younger, but never alone. This is the first time I’ve ventured out on a trip of this length, into a country where I am still learning the language, and where I know no one. I’m having an adventure.