This weekend I was looking for something in my email and came across this old beauty. June 2012 I was in San Francisco, staying with my generous cousin and his partner, and preparing for another trip abroad. Here's what was on my mind...
San Francisco, June 2012
I sit writing to you from a coffee shop (Ritual), in the iconic Mission neighborhood. I suppose I should report something about how beautiful San Francisco is, perhaps something about the sharp shadows of sunset or the vibrant colors and cold air. Or even about these past two months, full of coastal hikes, late night meditation circles, and the way biking one of these hills can make any ordinary person feel super-human…
Instead, sitting here, I find that all I have is a sort of turmoil to share. Tumbling, rolling thoughts about my upcoming travels back to Barcelona. Yesterday, I purchased my ticket which “makes it official.” And just as the official excitement set in (something like “eeeeeeeee!!! I can hardly wait!”)—so did the anxiety (it goes something like, “what the hell are you doing!!!!!!?)”
Last May I ventured to Europe for the first time in my life. I meant to stay a month and then return to NYC where I would plan my next trip (which would be cushioned somewhere in between finding my ideal job and continuing my education)…I stayed three months. Since then, I have spent six months abroad. Combined with continued travel within the States, I’ve technically spent ten months of the year traveling.
The truth is, as much as it has all been something incredible, I never imagined that this is who I would be: some sort of gypsy traveler and chronic wanderer, deriving my joy from the beauty of new places and the challenge of new people. There are a slew of things on the “list” of what I thought I would accomplish by this time--concrete, validating things. The issue is, that list seemed to be compiled from a limited vocabulary: a word search in which you only get to check off the designated words at the bottom of the page. And looking closely, all of these other words start connecting—and even though they are not on the list, there is something a bit more thrilling about them.
What am I doing? Why? What does this mean? Is this the best option?
I don’t have the answers. I don’t actually know. Chances are, there are probably a million other ways of how I could have more money, an apartment, friends I consistently see through the year, certifications, awards, titles, stability…
What I do know is that somehow, by following these inclinations--these dreams, these wants--my life has been enriched beyond anything I thought possible. I know now that "not enough money," "I don't know how," and "that's impossible" do not actually contain the torrents of change. Perhaps, if I am able to move past my old expectations, I'll be able to better see this moment in all its mystery and possibility.
So here I am, preparing to leave for a city that seems to have stolen my heart, putting one foot in front of the other, and following the urges that my gut won’t let me ignore. Maybe, that's something beautiful and validating in itself. Maybe.
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