June 21, 2022: Destination: Unknown

My alarm is set for 6 hours from the moment I’m writing this sentence. In the morning I will make coffee, take a quick shower, get dressed, double check my packing list, and leave for the airport. It’s an hour(ish) drive, and then I’ll have a little less than two hours for check-in, goodbyes, security, buying another cup of coffee and maybe sticking $10 in a video poker machine. I’ll board the plane, and watch as they load the bags and detach the gangway, and then the plane will pull away from the gate and make its way out onto the runway. A little less than 11 hours from now, it will taxi, take off, and I’ll be in the air. On my way.

I’m not sure I can adequately explain how I feel just now. I should be in bed. I know that. But I also had an open bottle of wine and leaving a bottle of wine behind half-finished seemed like bad luck. And anyway, it’s been a day of ups and downs, mostly downs, and no amount of therapy, crying, or journaling has been able to restore my equilibrium.

I’ve been thinking about this night. Thinking about writing this post. I thought I might be full of excited energy and unable to sleep, and hammer out a series of increasingly unlikely fantasies about what the next year might bring. I thought I might be anxiously checking and rechecking the packing list and need a distraction, which could be achieved by chronicling my packing list in a blog post. I thought I might be packing so late into the night that sleeping would seem pointless, and I could wax poetic about traveling trials into the digital abyss. I’m not really any of those things. I’m quite tired, actually. I should be sleeping. I think it would only take me a few moments to slip into unconsciousness. Crying a lot has a way of wearing you out. I don’t think I’ve cried this much in my life. In none of my many imaginings of this day did I cry nearly this much. When I sat down to write this post, and I wasn’t really sure what to say. So I looked around my room for inspiration.

This room has been mine for… probably close to two decades (at least 15 years). Before that, it was the room across the hall. I remember there was a crystal hanging in the window of that room, and every morning I would wake up surrounded by glittering rainbow beams. So many things become commonplace when we see them every day, but that never lost its appeal. Every morning I would see for myself that magic was real. Dreams were tangible, touchable things. This room doesn’t have an east facing window, so the rainbows didn’t make the move with me, but this room has seen a lot of other amazing things. I got my first computer in this room, where I would sit for hours working on my novel. The computer I was sitting at when my middle school bully sent me a message saying that my kindness made them see how wrong they were, and how sorry. This room was the sight of dozens of sleepovers, crazy dance parties, and shared secrets. I got ready for my first dance in this room, and for prom. I practiced my lines for hours in front of that mirror, and wasted lazy afternoons watching the neighborhood go by out that window, and took a few college finals at this desk. I lost my virginity in this room (sorry mom and dad, hopefully the statute of limitations for grounding has expired on that one). I came back to this room when I was hurt and lost and didn’t know my own mind. It was here for me. Ready. Mine. It’s a culmination of my life, of my accomplishments, of everything I’ve touched and dreamed and feared. It’s been changed and shaped by everyone I love. And as I looked around, just enjoying the comfort, the familiarity of this space, I caught sight of a picture pinned to the wall next to my desk.

Honestly, I usually don’t pay much attention to the stuff on the wall. As evidenced by the flyer for Gardnerville’s summer events that’s still pinned up there… from last year. But this photo. I love this photo. It’s one of my favorite photos of all time. Better than anything Ansel Adams could do, better than Annie Leibovitz.

The photo is around 30 years old, and it shows its age but it’s been well taken care of. There’s a granite mountain dominating the background, its greys and blacks and beiges carve sharp lines across the broad saddle leading off to the left side of the image and over the faces of more distant peaks that trail off to the right. The canyons and shoots are all buried in snow that blends with the clouds filling the sky above. The lake in the middle ground is as grey at the mountain but flat and still, color fluctuating only where it reflects the snow and clouds. A narrow strip of snow shapes a hill or ridge in the foreground, and upon it sit two people. A man and a woman, sitting in the snow. shoulders pressed together. The man has dark hair and a boyish grin, his right leg is kicked over the snow and his left hand sits close to the woman’s hip. She has fluffy, soft blonde hair and a bright smile that lights up her face, her legs tucked back to her left. Both of their eyes are crinkled with joy. It’s a perfect photo, because they’re both so clearly happy in that moment. They’re beautiful, exuberant, comfortable.

Today was hard because my parents are feeling a little under the weather. They tested negative for COVID yesterday, but they’re both really worried about getting me sick right before my trip. So they kept their distance. Stayed in their room. And I get it, they want to protect me. They always have. They’ve always been on my side. My partners in crime. I would never have considered this trip if it weren’t for them. If they hadn’t taught me about the world at a young age. If they hadn’t taught me how to travel well while growing up. If they hadn’t taken me with them everywhere they went, giving me the opportunity to see so many amazing things. If they hadn’t hosted a Rotary Youth Exchange student. If they hadn’t encouraged and supported me when I decided I wanted to do RYE when I grew up. If they hadn’t paid for the incredible travel opportunities I had. If they hadn’t supported me and gotten me into therapy. If they hadn’t let me move back home when I had the crazy idea to try out van life. If they hadn’t let me take over their house and side yard to build the thing. If they hadn’t supported me when I turned around a year after finishing it and decided to sell. If they hadn’t encouraged me when my best friend posed the crazy idea of just picking up and leaving for Europe—Destination: Unknown.

That’s just what they’ve done for me on my path to travel, to say nothing of the many other thousands of ways they’ve made me who I am. I’m so incredibly grateful.

I love my parents so much. I love spending time with them. I love being here with them. Looking at that picture fills me with so much joy because I’m so proud to be their daughter. It’s been the three of us against the world almost my entire life. Especially after moving back in as an adult, and getting to know them on more equal footing, I feel so close to them.

Tomorrow begins a journey I’ve always wanted to take, and one I think I’m finally ready for. I feel like tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. I’ve got this feeling like once I take off tomorrow, I might never land. But it’s hard to leave. There’s a trade off to everything.

I’m taking the photo with me. I get the feeling I might look at it more when it’s pinned to a wall in Croatia.

5 hours now, until the alarm. I can always sleep the plane, right?