On Staying

As former “gifted children” (i.e. neurodivergent children who grew up with privilege), we have been told since we were young that we should never settle. We deserve the world. Leave when it gets boring. Leave when it gets hard. Get something, someone, better. You deserve better. A better job, a better partner. Grind. Find a better place to live, buy a house. Work hard and the world will be at your fingertips. Say no no no, until you have everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
Let me propose an alternative. Stay.

When shit hit the fan in 2020, I wanted to run. My flight response was activated. However, this is when I learned how to stay.
My former partner taught me this strategy; this virtue. We traveled a bit, driving around northern California. He was passionate about California—its history, its maps, its scattered hickie (hick/hippie) towns. I was so restless I would constantly hint and ask about moving out of state, or, when hoping to compromise, moving to one of those towns we visited or the redwoods.
He did not enjoy those conversations.
He preferred to be present with what is. He listened to KQED radio every day, staying up to date with the news about COVID, about Trump, about the wildfires. He was not one to panic. He would continue his routine until it was an absolute necessity that he change it, and not preemptively. And when a new norm was introduced, he would adjust to it without overreacting, and continue on with his life in whatever ways were available to him.
During election season, I was contemplating moving out of the country. Berlin would be fun. Maybe I can have a visa marriage. When it turned out that Trump was not going to win or coup his way into the presidency, and vaccines were beginning to get rolled out, I was able to relax the first time in a year. I was grateful I hadn’t made any rash decisions to flee; because my partner was still here with me.
He taught me a lot about staying the course, rationally evaluating the level of risk involved in a situation, and then just living, breathing in the ocean or woodsy air, allowing my autistic high-level sensations to take me for a ride. To love and be loved, to hold hands and walk along a trail on a day where nothing is on fire.
I see my friends, family, and acquaintances bearing children. At first this startles me. How could one choose to bring a child into this world? And then I think about our survival instinct, the only thing we were truly made for. And investing in the present, creating life, giving birth, is the only way that humanity can move forward. Not by hiding in a room away from the scary world. But rather, courageously, wholeheartedly, investing in it.
And so I think about what it would mean to live my life, not the life I wanted, but the life I’ve got, to the fullest. And this requires appraisal of risk factors, along with creation, investment, immersion within the present moment in the most reasonable and soulful way we can.
My more recent ex, a very brief girlfriend, was talking about moving to Chile, or Spain, or Ireland, or Canada, if Republicans win the next election. I saw myself in her ruminations—a piece of myself which I hoped to leave behind, hoped I was already leaving behind. (The ironic use of “leaving behind” a desire to flee does not escape me—wow another pun). And this is why it didn’t work out. Because I wanted to stay. I wanted to not only stay the course with my life day-to-day, but also to settle down, invest in a lover, build a family. Root into the Earth upon which I stand. To feel safety with/in each other. She was ready to run. With her mind entrapped in the future and mine intentionally focused on the present, we were incompatible. I guess I was hoping she’d shift her orientation, that I could bring her enough of a feeling of home that she would decide to stay the course with me.
I found myself frustrated over the time that I knew her—in some of our different mannerisms and values—but I made a point to stay. To not be the one to leave first, to break it off, because I wanted to be with what was, and appreciate having someone towards whom to be affectionate, even if I couldn’t yet feel like I was in love. I thought over time it might come. So I stayed.
And she left me soon enough. I get it and feel no ill will. It is what she needed to do.
And here I am, listening to music, writing about my life, staying present with the sensation of my fingers on the keys, my foot curled up under me falling asleep, the upbeat music marching in my ear. Even if one day I live somewhere else, I am staying with myself. I am gifting myself patience, and gratitude. I will always be here for me in every moment, of joy, of pain, of pleasure, of fear. I will be here with my sadness and grief. And I continue on with integrity in my values, living my best sick and crazy, terrified and enraptured, embodied life.

originally published 2022.