Lying awake at 3:00 AM is like being in a vehicle that’s not moving. Like sitting in a train stuck in a tunnel. Or in a plane on the tarmac waiting to taxi down the runway. Gripping the wheel of a car in a traffic jam. I can’t get out. Anxiety and irritation mount. It’s the only time I have claustrophobia; what’s my purpose if I’m not moving? Waiting for it to be over, to get on with it. Ruminating about dark obsessive things. Waiting for sunrise, or a better attitude. Knowing that sooner later, this plane will lift off, traffic will clear, and I will forgive the menacing darkness. I’ve been told by a former boyfriend that I was like a shark; that I need to be moving in order to stay alive. That may be true, but I prefer the image of a hummingbird as my spirit animal.

So I keep flitting about here in Green Valley/Tucson. Visitors come and go; I volunteer with the migrant families; I attend classes in jewelry making, Irish dancing, writing. A few van camping trips, and of course Costa Rica occupied my winter here in the sunny south. But I’m beginning to tire myself out, spinning my wheels and yet feeling directionless. Maybe it’s just par for the retirement course. But I don’t like that vague restlessness. I need a purpose, some meaning, to feel needed.

The scorched earth is feverish. It’s been over 100 F for the past week. The desert is shimmering with heat, and it’s only March. I know I need to minimize my environmental footprint on the fragile planet. My days of accumulating stuff are coming to an end. Owning 2 houses and 2 vehicles as a single person is unsustainable, and somewhat cognitively dissonant. Perhaps the Nomad Moon and I have seen our heyday.

So what comes next? It’s full steam ahead for the graphic memoir that I’ve been working on for the past year and a half. Writing, illustration and layout are complete; now comes the scary part: publishing! Stay tuned, oh happy readers…