Getting the Hell Out of Dodge

Few exhilarating sensations are comparable to the rush you feel when you can “get the hell out of Dodge.”

You know the feeling when you pack all the things in anticipation and create multiple checklists. On the night before the trip, you could burst at the seams with optimism, anxiety, and enthusiasm at any moment.

The day has to come to get the hell out of Dodge, and you’re rarin’ to go.

Every summer, I pack my small and mighty Scion xB to the rooftop with camping gear, and the kids and I take off into the sunset to our overpriced yet serene campsite. We intended to start this camping tradition in 2020, but the bump in the road that year begins with a “C” and ends with an “ovid.”

We all know by now that only some things go as planned.

Nevertheless, four years later, here we were, loading up Ol’ Faithful (my Scion xB) and getting the hell out of Dodge. This particular trip was more of an impromptu getaway after my ex asked me to watch the kids on his days again. I wanted to surprise my babes with an outdoor adventure, spend our days in the invigorating lake, and spend our nights around the roaring campfire under the glorious full moon, indulging in sweet, gooey S’mores cones. We did that for four nights and three days, and I’d like to share what I learned at the lake— because there is always a lesson (or three) to bring back into town with you.

Life is short.

Where were you five years ago?

Did your life look anything like it does now?

Yeah, mine, either.

Five years ago, I was a very married woman and an anxious, bewildered shell of a human.

I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. But I knew something wasn’t right.

Back then, I spent my days at home with my kids, searching for rainbows in cloudy skies. I spent my nights engaged in cyclical conversations, trying to save my good-as-gone marriage. And I spent my weekends working as a home health aide, thinking about my family back home, while my ex locked himself in our bedroom and groomed the women of his past, present, and future on his phone.

Currently, after getting my CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant), CMA (Certified Medical Assistant), and CPT (Certified Phlebotomy Technician) license, I work as a private-duty CNA. My anxiety and depression rarely rear their ugly heads, and I don’t live with my parents anymore. I go busking with my dad every weekend to keep the love and music alive, though. For anyone unfamiliar with the art of busking, it’s synonymous with being a street performer. It means I get to sing and play guitar with my dad every weekend in exchange for intoxicating energy from the crowd.

Camping on the lake reinforced three things I knew deep down: Patient care is where my heart is. I’m so happy I don’t live with my parents anymore and grateful for the time we did. I have yet to decide whether to vigorously pursue music (and writing) or commit to earning my Nursing degree.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m really excited to find out.

Life is short. It took a divorce for me to start doing everything I’ve always wanted to do, e.g., go back to school, get a job in healthcare, and dare to publish my writing and play music on the street corner (and in coffee shops) for all to hear. I am proud of how far I’ve come in this life so far. It took swinging in a hammock between two trees in the middle of nowhere for me to realize how short life really is and how I better get busy living it.

Love is free, but divorce is expensive.

I never thought I would love myself more than my husband. With every fiber of my being, I wanted to love him more, and after years of self-neglect, I chose me. Choosing me was a necessity I didn’t know I needed until I filed for divorce.

I came across an old text message that I sent to my ex while we were married tonight. In this message, I pleaded for him to see me and heartfeltly expressed how worried I was about him, us, and our kids. I see clearly now how different our realities were (and still are). I can spot our limitations from a mile away now and do my best to approach every situation with empathy for the man I spent half my life with.

Part of me wants to stay single forever because I’m scared to death to love again; part of me wants to taste every mouth-watering flavor this life has to offer, and the remaining percentage misses married life and considers it in the future as a second chance to do things differently.

I will always love my ex, and I’ve stopped looking for love in the wrong places because love is free, divorce is expensive — and so is camping.

Relationships are complicated.

It took me years to realize how crucial “radical acceptance” really is; blurring the lines between what we can and can’t control takes minimal effort.

We can’t control how people love us, but we have every right to never accept despicable treatment from them. We can’t control who we are naturally attracted to or who is drawn to us, but we sure as hell get to decide who we surround ourselves with. We can’t change how traumatic our past was, but we get to choose how much we love ourselves in the future.

Relationships are far more complex than how we narrate them on the internet. Once a week (although not lately), I do my best to be vulnerable on this platform and hope to connect with someone out there. More often than not, someone reaches out to express something more beautiful than what I wrote.

I spent a lot of time (and a copious amount of energy) trying to control (and fix) the world around me. These days, I focus on fostering healthy, kind, mutually understanding, and reciprocal relationships.

Key Point

While writing this piece, I concluded that “Dodge” is an expired state of mind and a city in Kansas.

“Getting out of Dodge” means letting go of fear, or better yet, being scared to death about putting yourself out there, to love again, or asking for what you need — and doing it anyway.

So, what are you waiting for?

Get the hell out of Dodge already.

Thank you for reading. ❤

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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