Finding Home

Eating was not an option. But I did have about four ounces of water left so I figured I could ration that for a day or two. Besides my tattered Merrills, (one with a broken lace and 2 eyes missing), a pair of ripped painter pant cut off shorts, and Styx t-shirt form the 80's, I only had three beloved belongings. A hydro-flask covered with stickers from every country or state my son Dane had ever visited, a personalized pen getting dangerously low on ink and my moleskin journal.

Taking a break from the real estate world, my family, my team and my 7-figure income for a month to "find myself" seemed like a really good idea at the time but, hey, call me crazy. “People are losing track of what is important”, I shouted from my soapbox to anyone who would listen about the millionaires’ who bought the homes I so proficiently marketed. When suddenly I realized, so was I. I lost track. I lost my purpose. My goal was to serve, to help others realize their dream, to be the best damn Realtor in the world. I will show them, I had thought, as I set out to change a deliberately broken industry. I will care. I will make a difference. And I did. Until I didn’t. I suddenly found that it had become a game to me just like to everyone else in real estate race to the top. Oh, I still cared, but the noise, the competition, the distractions, and intensifying clamor of social media drowned out my sense of authentic curiosity and intention.

My original thought of “Calgon, take me away”, did not include the picture being abandoned in a desert with a dusty tongue, a surprisingly bad sunburn considering my Italian dissent, and, although I could not see them, what felt like actual dreadlocks (my daughters would be proud).

Choosing Joshua Tree was an easy decision. Spiritual. Breathtaking. Deep with history. I didn’t even have to surf the web for long to imagine the magic that was about to unfold in my quest to dramatically change my life. A place where Yucca trees raised their arms in prayer was clearly the only choice. Honestly, where else would I faithfully find my inner soul, my purpose, my “self”. So off I went. Kissed the family goodbye and set out with my oversized backpack, complete with vanderblue team logo, as visions of tranquility danced through my head.

The first night was amazing. The blackness enveloped me as thousands of pinpricks of mystical light invited me into the vastness. In the darkness I remembered how to breath, and although thoughts raced through my mind like rats in a ground fill, I felt a swaddled in a sense of calm. At that time, I still had my head lamp so I eagerly pulled out my shiny new moleskin and started to write. Cautiously at first. Almost as if I were afraid to make a mistake. Mrs. Bissell, who embarrassed me in 1st grade, came to mind as I carefully thought out my every word so not to misspell or forget my grammar. Funny as I look back on it now.

I take a tiny sip of what is left of my relatively clean water and sigh with gratitude. What a lovely word, gratitude. Such a relative term. And so often overlooked, underutilized and forgotten altogether. I had been through more than I ever thought possible these past 28 days. Days, hours, minutes, and even seconds that would live deliberately in my mind forever. And most of which I would cherish until the end of time. I had lost everything: my clothes, my tiny tent, my blankets, my toothbrush, and sometimes I even think I lost my mind. But I would not trade one second of the sacred growth that I, and my God, witnessed as I climbed, hiked and fought my way to personal freedom. Because what I found was more than I ever anticipated or could have possibly imagine.

I look down at my filthy hands holding my tattered journal strapped safely shut, protected from the elements. I smile softly as I imagine my future grandchildren reading my words to their own children they snuggle in their soft, warm beds. I am hopeful that maybe, just maybe, one will think “I want to be just like great gramma when I grow up.”

Now that I have relearned how to breath, and I mean really breath, I take a long deep breath, look up at the sky and scream “Thank you” at the top of my lungs. I am almost ready to go home, I think. And then I realize, I am home.