Still a Caterpillar

Sometimes I change my life so drastically it’s almost like killing myself. Moving blind from New York City to South Australia, from London to a San Francisco youth hostel, from Australia to an island off the coast of Maine. I focus on the beginning, the new. I don’t think about the old–the ghost of a life–crumbling to dust behind me like an empty cocoon. And here I am, inching away, still a caterpillar…That’s what the move from New Zealand to California was like. It wasn’t my decision; I was five and a half. But it was my expectation. I banked on Disneyland, and I got the back of my aunt’s station wagon. I sat with suitcases, as a speeding snake-like blur of traffic filled every window, and I cried. That was too many cars, driving too fast, all at once. It wasn’t what I signed up for.