I’ve been staying indoors the last week or so, at the place where my raven will be living while I am traveling for PantheaCon this coming week. I wanted to give him time to adjust to his environment here — and the other humans — before I took off, as we’re very closely bonded and neither of us is used to being apart from the other. It’s pretty sappy. Anyway, I’ve been indoors, rather than in my van, and I realized something:
It was fucking cold this Winter. I just spent a fuckton of years living in California, where “cold” is still above freezing. I grew up in this area, with this kind of cold, but I wasn’t living in a van then. I remember being very confident about my survival chances going into this Winter, and I did take the right precautions, in terms of cold-weather gear, insulation, and methods for warming up a bit — but realistically? Fuck. It was lethally cold some of those nights.
I have nothing profound to say right now, except that I’m somewhat happy to have survived it, somewhat surprised by the same, and glad for every moment of it that I got to be indoors on the nights where I maybe wouldn’t have survived.
And in other news, this particular expression of exodus is coming to a close for me: upon returning from California, I will begin moving into a home, where I can rebuild my shrines, surround myself with my family of Temple snakes, and not have quite so many survival concerns. Five or so months of New England winter in a van was not what I moved to this coast for, but I kind of feel like I’ve proven to myself that I like this world enough to stay in it a bit longer, and so a home seems a reasonable step.
And so ends an era. And begins another….