Death By Suburb

Death by Suburb.
It’s got a ring to it, doesn’t it?
It’s actually the title of a book I’m reading.
“Death by Suburb” by David L Goetz.
So far, the book is a good one.
But that’s not what I’m rambling about today.
Death by Suburb.
Just that statement.
It resonates with me.
In fact,
I believe I am experiencing exactly that.
Left NYC ten months ago.
Loved that city.
The energy.
The talent.
The opportunities.
That the bizarre and the ridiculous were an everyday thing.
Hated aspects of the place as well.
The unrelenting crowds.
Angry outbursts from individuals who had been emotionally or physically jostled one too many times that day.
The hot dog pee smell that radiated off sidewalks all summer long.
The physical exhaustion of schlepping everything you needed as you slogged through every kind of nasty weather to make it through your daily routine.
A chance to move to a quieter place arose.
A real house.
More family time.
Something different.
Something new.
We grabbed the opportunity.
Determined to embrace the new adventure and make it work for us.
And we did.
Mostly.
My guys are all settled.
Work for my fella is only a five minute drive away.
Sports programs for the kids outstanding.
Schools are good.
Children courteous.
Community friendly.
House is big.
My studio is downright amazing.
There’s even a puppy scheduled for pick-up this spring.
Grass looks pretty darn green.
 Except.
What?
I’m struggling with something.
Not depressed.
No, not that.
Made plenty of friends.
So I’m not exactly lonely.
Volunteering.
Gardening.
Always mired in house shit
(there is really no end to what must be handled next in a house).
Hanging out with my kids.
Still reading.
Making stuff as always.
Really,
It’s just business as usual.
Except…
 What?
Something is off.
Here’s a bit of ridiculousness:
I noticed my car is not as fancy as the other cars around here.
It almost bothered me.
Which makes me want to smack myself.
I’m shopping for the perfect appetizer dish with a little bowl in middle for dip.
Dip?!
For crying out loud.
I need to buy a golf outfit.
And shoes.
Because I signed up for golf lessons.
Who AM I?
I think, perhaps, I’ve lost a little of myself in this transition.
I had this dream the other night.
In the first part,
My friend was stuffing cantaloupe into her swimsuit to give herself bigger bosoms.
…ok, that had nothing to do with anything, but I thought it was funny.
And then in my dream,
I closed down my blog.
Because I had nothing left to say.
I woke up.
And thought,
For real?
Is there really nothing to say?
Maybe there isn’t.
My idea was to share what I find inspiring in the everyday.
But to tell you the truth,
It’s harder and harder to scrape up a spark of anything these days.
I can’t even inspire myself right now.
Forget about sharing it with others.
So on this rather downer of a note,
(sorry)
I’m signing off.
Can’t seem to find inspiration exploring.
Though really,
I’ve tried.
All I seem to come across is some variation of the same strip mall in every direction.
Think I need show some discipline.
Dig down.
Focus.
Work.
See what I can really do when the door is closed.