Been feeling like a walking talking paradox lately..
I want to keep this show on the road; to keep moving – going where I want, when I want. To fill every single one of the new pages I just had added to my passport. I want to live in a converted van, or a sailboat, or a yurt in Mongolia. I want to watch the sun rise over a glassy sea from a surfboard and watch the sun set from the top of every mountain range I can possibly climb before my body betrays me. I want to crawl into bed at night with sore muscles and blisters on my feet from getting so, so lost, but in doing so, inadvertently stumbling upon some scene that’s actually going to end up being one of those grandkid-worthy stories.
I want to shuffle off a plane and head straight for whatever cafe the locals like best before succumbing to jet lag and falling asleep to a symphony of new sounds: birds I don’t know the names of, waves crashing into sand I’ve yet to bury my toes in, muffled voices in tones I haven’t heard before. I want to drive without a destination and walk and run and most likely skip a little through the sceneries I had previously only dreamed of or seen on some computer’s screensaver.
I want each new place to challenge me creatively. I want to force myself to ask that stranger who only knows “hello” and “yes” in English if I can take their portrait. I want to find the beauty in those places that some people might not immediately label beautiful. I want to be inspired by the myriad of creative people I encounter because there are SO MANY out there. I want to live among native peoples and marvel at not only our cultural differences, but also our human similarities. I want to live among wild animals – troops of monkeys, pods of dolphins, a pride of lions. I want to use my camera for good – documenting people and wildlife and experiences to share the magic I encounter with those who can’t make the journey.
But. Another part of me wants to nest. To carve out my space in this world that I can truly call home – a minimal little home I can fill with aesthetically pleasing little things and then children and animals to mess it all up.
I want to make roast chicken and soup from scratch for my hilarious, loving, patient husband – whoever that turns out to be. I want to host family Christmases and throw little dinner parties with jazz playing in the background and spend most nights sprawled on the couch with him watching old movies and making out like teenagers. I want to buy impossibly small shoes for a tiny human that is amazingly a flesh and bone combination of me and the man I chose to love.
I want to teach my kids how to climb trees and build pillow forts and how to swim like their mama. I want to show them how to appreciate music and nature and reading. I want to try to grow things: herbs and vegetables and flowers for the kitchen counter. I want to walk down my tree-lined street to a friend’s home on warm evenings for barbecues and laughter over beers and the stories that keep getting more and more ridiculous because they’re the same stories we’ve been telling for years. When my parents come to visit, I want to set out fresh towels in the guest room and have cold brewed coffee ready for them to sip in the early morning as we talk about life and love and Dad’s yoga cramps.
We all are faced with big choices in our lives. I don’t know anyone who can truthfully say they didn’t wonder if they should have chosen the other path. But when I acknowledge these two parts of me, the duality of what would make me happy, I am well aware that no matter where I end up, I’m going to be damn satisfied with the journey. My two sides have little hope of getting along very well, and I think that’s going to be okay. Life works out in ways that are so much better than we imagine. And no matter which way you slice it, you guys – life is so fucking good.