I Am A Chameleon

Long ago, far away, back when I was in grade school, every year us kids would have our parents take us to the Western Washington State Fair (called the Puyallup Fair back then).  At the fair, there was one carny game which, if you won, your prize would be a live chameleon.  The little lizard would have a string around its neck for a leash, and when I won one, I would take it home and spend hours marveling at its ability to change colors depending upon its environment. It was mesmerizing and I remember being a bit jealous of that ability.  I also remember that there would inevitably come a day when all of us kids in class would bring our chameleons to school and, when the teacher wasn’t looking, release them all in the classroom, but that’s a story for another day.

A good friend of mine, Linda, recently commented that she admires my comfort in changing lifestyles, referencing the changes which have occurred in the last year.  Truthfully, I had to think about that for a moment because, since I came out of alcohol treatment in December 2006, I have built a regimented, structured life as a defense against my habit of running off the rails when faced with unsettling, concerning events.

The key to that last sentence is the fact that I now have mechanisms in place, including the ability to love myself, which allow me to handle change much the way I did long ago, back to my twenties, when I embraced change and, in fact, found it exhilarating.

Many moons ago, I would go on a road trip at the drop of a hat, figuratively speaking.  After my mother remarried, five years after my father died, I moved into a beach home, stayed there for six months, then moved into an apartment, then rented a home in town, then rented a basement apartment in town, all happening in slightly more than one year.  During my first marriage we lived in fifteen homes in the span of twelve years, including an “on a whim” move to Vermont for two years.

You might say wanderlust is in my blood.

Being comfortable with change? I think some of that comes from a confidence in myself to figure out a way to have basic needs met.  Even today, if money were to disappear, or my Social Security suddenly quit arriving, I know I could find a way to flourish. It’s a confidence instilled in me by my father, and a confidence I have always had during adulthood.  Add to that the fact that I barely place any importance on material things. I don’t care if I own a home. I don’t really care if I own a car.  Large wardrobe? LOL  Baubles and trinkets? LOL I don’t care if Bev cuts my hair or a barber does; since Bev is cheaper, I go with Bev.  I volunteer to help a lot of friends simply because I don’t need the money they would pay me (my needs are met) and friendship is pretty damned important.

I have no emotional attachment to things, and when I say I have embraced the simple life, I am not yanking your chain. I am completely comfortable in having very little in the way of possessions.

And, when I die, people will look at my estate (LOL) and those who do not know me will assume I was a pauper, maybe even trailer trash, that my life must have been a long series of disappointments and failures, for surely someone with so little must have littered the halls of time with wrong turns and mammoth mistakes.

But those who know me can bear witness to the fact that I was happy in the end, satisfied in the end, and loved myself when that final curtain fell.