“The members of a tree who do not conform to the norms or traditions of the family system, those who since childhood have constantly sought to revolutionize beliefs, going against the paths marked by family traditions, those criticized, judged and even rejected, these are usually called to free the tree of repetitive stories that frustrate entire generations.
[…]
Uncountable repressed desires, unfulfilled dreams, the frustrated talents of our ancestors are manifested in the rebelliousness of these black sheep seeking fulfilment.”
-Bert Hellinger
I was f***ed either way. My options were to remain inside an environment of neglect and control for the sake of a having a home or excise myself from it and face reconstruction alone.
The past doesn’t have to dictate the future, right? Olympians have emerged from war-torn countries, right?
I can assume complete power over what I build from here… right?
Okay, new game.
Another photo from my tent because every weekend I consider living in a vehicle with a little more detail. It’s frowned upon by the masses that place such high emphasis on comfort and materials, but personally the thought of being so heavily rooted in one area is the more uncomfortable thought. Admittedly, that’s a perspective driven heavily by not having the means to be both free and comfortable in my life currently, and if I have to choose one, I might be saying hello to gym showers and a well-loved van. I just don’t feel like the greatest potential for my life lies in what it looks like from the outside.
-Instagram, July 28th, 2019
On August 12th, I was the new owner of a Chevy from 1985. The five years to follow were the most loaded with possibility I ever felt. I had most of what I needed, and absolutely nothing (but mechanicals) that I didn’t.
But I didn’t want to haul off to the mountains, park somewhere peaceful and watch the sunset. I wanted to chase that horizon, ever moving, and continue to harvest a story from thin air. In a recent conversation, I was asked what I could accomplish that would make me feel like I was enough.
That has never been the correct question to ask me, though. My trouble has not been that Genna doesn’t feel she is enough. She felt like she couldn’t have enough to go full throttle.
I don’t think a failure to thrive equals a deficit on my part.
I moved out of the van in 2024 to live with a partner that eventually threatened to kick me out regularly. The final time I called his bluff, moved back into the van, and didn’t return. 10-months, nothing to show for it.
Then I moved into a vacant house owned by a cycling contact, struggled to keep a job because my vehicle kept breaking down, then eventually realized that the assistance was not clean. Another year, nothing to show for it (except my thousands of words).
I have a much more stable spot now but the van keeps me broke, I cannot sell it because that’s my insurance, and working more would eliminate the very things that have made the struggle worth it at all.
I told myself very, very young that we could one day course-correct for the lottery we lost at birth because I knew I had something.
Oddly, if I was in a hospital bed tomorrow knowing my time was almost up, I think I could quite easily accept what I hadn’t accomplished because I have had quite a run; to the point I’m writing a book about why I “don’t show” the implications of my history.
But so long as there is time ahead of me, petty limitation is suffering.
I remember going out into the backyard when I was 16 and staring up at the night sky, speaking to something I couldn’t see, damn certain that how my life began wasn’t going to be the arbiter for the remainder of it.
I sent a manual transmission to future Genna.
I don’t know where that belligerence came from, but it and the tangible consequence of survival are gridlocked as we speak. Most of the people I talk to about it tell me “just stabilize everything first and then you can pursue dreams.”
But the one valuable thing my dad told me was that “tomorrow never comes.”
And I watch unlived yesterdays become realized as a simple fact of my job.
The few people that understand the bind seem just as much at a loss as I am. This year has been particularly cruel, to the point that “the little dark cloud” has become an inside joke.
_____
This blog began as documentation of generating something I wanted from nothing. It’s become much more complicated (and sometimes harrowing) than that because the writing process shows me thinking live rather than coming up with a compelling thesis or pretty moral. My work is uncomfortable because I myself am not motivated to paint myself as an inspiration when I am simply chasing experiences I want to have before I can’t.
The can’t element is becoming real far too early.
But I have no template for resignation; I don’t even own a white flag.
I have nothing without something to reach for that I chose.
And it is impossible to convince me to want something else simply because it would help me do better. Especially when there are no guarantees.
_____
“Do you think you just fell out of a coconut tree? You exist in the context in which you live and what came before you.”
-Kamala Harris
I heard you, Kamala. But I’m an engineer.
And what came before me was a dead end.
Do you see how even right now I refuse to write an ending?
