Finding Forts

fort

/fôrt/

noun

...a fortified building or strategic position.

Since I was a child,

I've always felt the need

to have a place of my own,

a fort.

When I was a little girl,

I'd travel deep into the orange grove 

near our house.

I would climb high up into a tree,

and build a tree fort,

using scraps of wood and cardboard,

a place where I could sit, alone,

with a view all around me for safety,

and think my thoughts

or go on adventures in my own head.

I had another fort I built in tall grass

under some lemon trees

in an empty lot behind our house.

That one had a hole under the a lemon tree

where I could store magazines

and jars of snacks.

Another fort was in the middle of a corn field.

Another, in my grandparents' garage.

Still another place I loved to be alone

was in abandoned homes in old "Japanese Town,'

in Armona, California. 

These were houses behind my Aunt Vena's home,

the sad remains of those unfortunate families

who had been put into interment camps

during WWII,

and who had never returned.

Those houses looked much like this one,

an Ashiodozan Mining Town. 

When I was older, a teenager,

though I could not lock my bedroom door,

I did have a bathroom with a door that locked.

I'd wait until the house was quiet,

go into that bathroom,

lock the door,

and climb out the window.

Then I'd walk under the light of the stars

to one of my private forts

where I felt safer

than in the house of my mother and stepfather.

Lying on my back,

I would gaze deep into the starry heavens.

I'd dream of freedom

from the shame and pain and sorrow

that was my life.

I'd make up stories of a happy me,

traveling, finding people who loved me,

having children who I would cherish,

and seeing all the wonderful places

I would read about

in my red Children's Encyclopedia.

As an older teenager,

I'd walk down the dusty road to the riverbank,

drop my clothes,

and swim across to an island,

where I could be alone all day.

As an adult,

I've fought my way through failed relationships,

always breathing a sigh of relief

when the husband 

was finally gone,

and I could be alone

in my own space,

safe.

Now, in the last half of my life,

I'm still looking for a fort,

a girl cave,

a place I can be alone with my thoughts,

a place of my own.

For me now,

it is my van,

my cozy little cave of metal on wheels.

I feel very safe inside,

and sleep like a baby.

I'm feeling it's not quite big enough, though.

I want a place I can stand up and cook,

walk around,

maybe a motorhome,

maybe an apartment if I can find one 

that I can afford.

But a place of my own,

where I can unpack my treasures,

do my art,

listen to my music,

watch my tv shows,

write my stories,

and continue the journey of my healing.

I've been catching up on my programs this week 

while in Desert Hot Springs. 

One of those is a wonderful series called "This is Us."

Generally, I think of these shows as mindless entertainment.

But a character in an episode this morning

 made a statement

that caused me to pause the show, 

rewind, 

and watch again,

over and over and over.

What she said struck a chord.

The woman was trying to explain to her boyfriend 

why she wasn't unpacking her boxes. 

They had decided to live together 

but she kept procrastinating the unpacking process. 

He felt frustrated that his living room 
(HIS living room!) 

was littered with packed cardboard boxes 

he had to walk around.

She said,

"I had 3 locks on my apartment door in Chicago,

bars on the windows,

not because I was actually worried about 

someone breaking in,

but peace of mind was taken from me.

It's a lot for me to give up

my own safe space,

more than it is for most people,

and the idea of giving that up 

why I have never lived with anyone before."

She was speaking of her childhood abuse,

and the importance of having a safe space,

where she could lock the doors and windows

and feel protected,

feel peace of mind.

A place of her OWN,

where the peace she treasured 

could be enjoyed.

A fort.

My mind was blown.

I felt I had found the answer 

to an important question

about my own habit of 

NEEDING a place of my own.

A place of PEACE.

And it felt good to know

I'm not the only one who feels this.

A kindred spirit expressed a truth to me today.

Maybe television isn't completely mindless

because at least one writer

knew the secret.

Healing can be found in the strangest places. . . 

Oh yeah,
there are OTHER reasons I like to be alone:

Happy Trails,
Annie