I hardly remember a thing. Pack, move, clean, repeat. Run errands, make time for friends and family; I had a constant list in my head. Although I had had the entire summer to prepare, I was somehow still in the middle of a frantic packing frenzy when my sisters came to pick me up that final evening.
Zombiefied. That’s the best way to describe it. I stood unemotional as loved ones said tearful goodbyes. I felt frozen, my head filled with to-do lists and self-reminders. This was not how I had wanted to leave…but I didn’t have a choice.
“I can’t stay,” I explained softly to my mom as she hugged me one final time before boarding the shuttle. And I couldn’t. That life didn’t fit anymore, and I needed to do something drastic.
I thought the reality would set in on the plane, or in my first hostel, or after a couple of days on this new continent, in this different culture. I kept waiting for “the big freak out”…but it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it won’t.
Leaving my job and my home and my family seems so huge in theory, but now that I’m here, it just feels right. Natural. Like it was always going to be this way. And I think that scares me most of all, because I don’t know how long I will continue to wander…
“I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.” -Anaïs Nin
(Sculpture found at Qorikancha in Cusco, Peru and so perfectly fit this quote…I flipped her so she’s upright:)