Legend has it the first word that left my mouth was “mapa,” which my mother and father have argued, through a strong and plausible case, was the result of my opposition to choosing favorites, and instead choosing to merge the words “mama” and “papa.” I like to think that I knew what I was saying, or if I didn’t consciously, a part of me still knew. Considering that beginning, it is a little ironic that neither map or route plan can be found anywhere in my bags. Blame it on the lack of time, my procrastination skills, or the inability to plan something like this, but for once I couldn’t bring myself to look at a map too intently. Opening Google Maps to explore the city felt like a betrayal to the spirit of discovery, and searching for places and destinations felt like a limitation to the possibility of spontaneity. For once, it wasn’t mere wishing, or daydreaming. I WAS GOING.
Obviously, rationalizing my thoughts and actions is the norm, which is why the realization that what is happening has little patience for rationalization is terrifying. Indeed, as the lady to my right leafs through her magazine, and the little offering cart brushes my left elbow, I can’t project my thoughts far enough to encompass what sitting here actually means. Late last night, somewhere between frantic packing and the 3 O’clock chime of the moon, I sat in silence looking at the three small bags in the white ceramic, living-room floor. I sat and waited—irrationally. I knew no tall, faceless man would walk in and destroy my flawlessly rolled vestments and neatly stacked items. Still, I sat and I paused and I waited.
What had began as a simple nod of approval towards a far-fetched goal was mere hours away, but it still didn’t feel real—it still doesn’t feel real. The last two-weeks have tested my emotions and seeming stability. I have felt every feeling in the spectrum and I have felt nothing. It was like a detached outsider observing myself. Little moments would drip through the permeability—a hug, a word, a look. I never meant to get grounded by anyone, but between tender arms, whispered words, and boastful laughter, I found a peace and happiness only worth feeling between sips and bites of deliciousness and frantic races against the clock to make the moment last a little longer.
Alas, here might be my one direct address to my lovely family, incredible friends, and outstanding supporters: thank you for being there always, mostly, sometimes, rarely, or once. The preparation for this trip made me look into things deeply within myself. Asking for help, accepting that help, and cherishing the support, made a seemingly individual journey take on a very crowded—in the “the-more-the-merrier” sense, that is—pursuit. I leave Nebraska feeling loved, strong, safe, and prepared. I also leave a more vulnerable version of who I was a few months ago—or at least who I took myself to be. It is perhaps in that sense that I am most grateful and at a loss of repayment and words. There is something so wonderful about experiencing things deeply, fully, fearlessly, and tenderly because falling there is someone—not there to catch you—but willing to take the fall with you into the most exposed and raw explorations of life.
Part of this trip was learning to share and understand myself in a new way. Beginning by opening up a piece of me that has been constant and intense—my writing that is—is terrifying, but if I don’t keep pushing my boundaries, I can’t expand, and I refuse to be stuck when there is a whole world of wonders to absorb. So, here it is to four months of stream-of-consciousness and the best of luck and vibes to those actually choosing to venture down that rabbit-hole. Et bien! Here it is to the people that managed to ground me in the most liberating way by pushing me to find my feathers and become who I want to be. Thank you for making this life, the life it is.
À bientôt!
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Thank you for making this life, the life it is...
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