16 April 2016
I have no idea how you do this—constantly pack your bags and decide what to take with you and what to leave behind. I suppose over time you get very efficient at it, and you come to know for a certainty what things are non-negotiable, and what things are replaceable.
I think I have been packing my bag for a week now, not only because I’m worried about the weight and how much it’ll cost if I go beyond seven kilograms, but that sense of security and peace of mind I’m trying to chase after—if I bring this I’ll be okay.
Then I catch myself thinking, isn’t the objective to be lost? Isn’t the goal to completely assimilate yourself with the unknown, and see what happens? (A voice in my head whispers, there’s a difference between being lost and being foolish.)
Anyway, I’m at a hotel now. Later in the evening I’ll be going to the airport. My flight leaves at ten. My dilemma right now is choosing between a smaller luggage and a bigger one. I’m trying to decide which is more advantageous for me on the way back, as this is all checked in anyway. I know the answer is obvious and staring me right in the face, but maybe I can’t see it because I’m myopic.
Also, I forgot my meds. At least, the ones that matter. Headache and tummy aches—I’ve got that covered. But when my anxiety arrives without warning, or the darkness comes for me unexpectedly, well. I suppose I’ll just have to fight it. My sister tells me it’s self-sabotage, that I intentionally left it at home. I don’t have an answer to that.
Off to another adventure it seems. Here’s to our attempts at making our world bigger. I want to say that I’m running off to meet my future self who’s waiting for me to catch up so we can finally move forward. I really want to believe that.