I really want to sit down with this post and put some thought into it. I'm in a very surreal mood, and even looking around my kitchen feels like I'm in a book or a game or something. It might be a strange moment to capture, but this is my moment and I like looking back on days like this. I'm in a weird state of pleasant uncertainty, maybe a form that I was once very accustomed to.
I remember the days of traveling when I didn't know where I would end up or what I was getting myself into. I saw it as a goal, and my only ambition was to leave, never to actually get anywhere. Traveling has strange coincidences and idiosyncrasies around every corner. My life was once centered around traveling, and I used to hit these dark lows when I was unsure about future plans.
There was a time that I was terrified to join the Peace Corps, not because I was afraid of being away from home, but because I thought it would never actually happen to me. I clearly remember listening to Fela Kuti in my room and feeling the struggle in his voice. I applied it to my life, although it seems so unbalanced to compare his and my experiences of life. I wanted to leave so bad, but I was failing math, and in a peculiar relationship with a very nice person. I wanted to be destructive of self (I eventually became self-destructive, which is something totally different). I wanted out.
So, this room feels surreal. As it turns out, I really like being domestic, and I'm even pausing in the middle of cleaning my house to write this. I'm happy, and I don't feel like being afraid of losing that happiness. Things have always come around for me, and perhaps with some patience I can be optimistic about this next chapter as well. Do I want to get out and travel the world again? That is still a question I can't answer at this time. I've experienced many lifetimes of travel, and for that I am eternally grateful. But, will I ever get out there again? I really don't know.
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