The weeks following my trip to BC have been busy and long and a blizzard of work and heat and summer rain. It becomes very clear to me how much time has passed and how much I have grown when I go home, remembering the last time I stood in the same place and have everything be so different. I had a moment, saying goodbye to my aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins; kissing babies' cheeks, squeezing hands, doing the last circle of embraces in the foyer of my grandparents' house, a ritual becoming so familiar to me. Saying goodbye, I remember last summer I was there with the same group of people, my heart feeling unsure and heavy, my head swimming, a lump in my throat. A lot of plates in the air and feeling like my world was a castle made of playing cards. You can be in the same place and yet everything has changed.
My heart now feels at peace and so light, and yet in a fury of dreaming and aching for everything to be unknown, to stare in the faces of strangers, to sit on benches lining far away streets, to be in a haze of strange languages and new smells and food and getting lost. Walking so far in a day I wear holes into my shoes. Sitting beside the ocean for a whole day. Alone in the world with a pen and a book. Soak it in. Eat it up. Ask a million questions.
Sometimes possibility feels paralyzing to me. Daunting. The responsibility of having the world at my fingertips gets intimidating and instead, sometimes I just sleep in. With contemplating and stewing up these plans of grandeur I talk myself out of it. I'm too busy. I'm too poor. In six months. Later.
In my prayers is the courage to be brave, the courage to have the get up and go. The courage to do many things, a million small and brilliant adventures. To think less and try more. To drink deep and dig deep and sleep less and work harder and keep my eyes open longer to take it all, take it all in.