Walls

I was having one of those “If I was rich/won the lottery daydreams.” My typical fantasy involves buying my neighbor’s property, expanding my current property, and using their entire house as a studio, freeing up my current house for more of my theme rooms. However, in this case, I was driving through my hometown of Madison and noticed a sign for 50 acres on Rt. 20 for sale. Suddenly, my fantasies shifted, to, if money was not an issue; I could buy that property and move back to Madison. At first, it started with moving my current house there, then to just building something new. That’s when the epiphanies started. First, was the realization that this physical property no longer meant as much to me anymore. My craving for love, acceptance, and belonging are no longer being satiated by belongings. Breakdown was an artistic/ideological process I began last winter, and was where the realization that I had too much love for things was discovered. This home, itself, was originally built to house the life and family I wished to create with Lisa. Now, even her family is no longer a part of me, despite living a few miles from me. After my divorce, this place became my foundation; my rock to build upon. And build I did, and never stopped. During my active and happy college years it became a sanctuary and workshop for my talented friends who did not possess the same good fortune and resources to express their talents. But, as Breakdown taught me, I’ve been holding on to too much for too long.

I have been in college too long and have used it as an excuse to avoid returning to full adult life for too long. Most of my college friends have moved on and out, escaping the dying, cancerous city of their upbringing, not mine. I was never really a part of Ashtabula. I don’t even live within the city limits. Lisa and her family are long gone. Although The Phoenix* has burned out and its wake left my beautiful son, I have yet to fully open my wings. I am still trapped within this house cocoon; it has become an impenetrable wall. I’ve left no room for any new lovers, new families, or even space for growing an old one into something complete. Sure, they were allowed in, allowed to visit, and even stay awhile, but I never gave anyone the space to truly belong. It’s not fair for me to drag my next wife through Lisa’s dirt.

So, what does this mean? During my exodus of things from this house at Breakdown’s inception last winter, I pondered giving up this house. Is it keeping me from moving forward? Or is it still here for my next rebirth? During Breakdown, I got rid of lots of things, but I never added any more people.

As for Ashtabula itself, I feel as though I’ve done all I could here. Ashtabula has been bleeding out for years. By many, it is viewed as culturally devoid. I’ve found people here who are talented, intelligent, and creative. The problem is that the culture here exists as a blanket to hide and snuff out that beauty. The friends who have continued to develop have done so only by leaving. I’ve foolishly believed that art and creation could save this town, but not if its natives want nothing, but their comfortable ugliness. I can’t save them, and the more I think about it, the longer I stay, I might not be able to save myself. Those I’ve been involved with have made it clear that they have done what they need/want with me.

The largest emotional snag is my best friend. He does not live in Ashtabula, but he does live in Ashtabula County. Moving would mean putting a larger physical divide between us. I know that wherever each of us go, we will always be family, but it does make it harder to show that. He’s recently started a new family, and to be honest, I feel he needs time to work that into a more livable situation. I will always be there when they need me, but maybe not always when either of us wants to. I can’t save him either.

The crossroads I find myself at is this: Do I leave my home and everything I’ve built to start all over again and build another life, perhaps with someone else who may or may not exist? The Kinney Estate has become synonymous with me. It’s a living art museum of my life. It’s taken 11 years to get it the way I like it, but with no one to share it with, it’s meaningless. I’ve built it so well that I’ve left no cracks for anyone else to get in. For a man born in prison, I’ve done a damn fine job building another one around me.

My biggest lament is the loss of the amazing studio I’ve built here and all of the potential creations churning out of it. It will be much harder to complete many of my art projects I’ve planned without the resources I have now. But, maybe, I need to change those plans too.

I would still be creative, no matter where I go. It would just be different. It would have to. Life, and art that imitates it, finds a way. I must create. It’s in my nature, just as I must destroy.

If I do abandon my current life and home, where do I go? Do I return to my hometown of Madison? I feel that if I did that, it would be settle. I would not want an apartment in Madison. I would want a house. I would just be starting this cycle all over again, should I go at this alone again.

I could return to Mentor, where I first fled home to. I could wait out my time in an apartment. This would give me plenty more options, particularly my Engineering degree and my proximity to my son. My counterpoint, however, is questioning whether I would be trying to recreate where I started with Lisa. Would I be asking to repeat my past mistakes?

Whatever my decision, I am due for a hard reset. My life is leading me there. I have a son, but no solid family. I’ve already accepted that it’s time to end my college shenanigans. After my next year I will be an Engineer on paper with a rather impressive track record. I have a past I need to conceal in order to utilize it.

Do I leave my past behind and start new? Or do I use it as a springboard for the next evolution? Is all of this just a symptom of depression, restlessness, loneliness, or wanderlust?

More input is needed. This journal post was not just a long, rambling dissertation of my indecision, but rather a plea for help.

Someone please help me, before I help myself.

*Note:

 My life I have divided up into named chapters, based on significant events:

Jail Baby: birth to Sept. 1997

Ryan and Lisa: Sept. 1997 – Aug. 2008

The Phoenix: Aug. 2008 – July 8, 2012

The AntiFather: July 8, 2012 - current