Your Trip, My Journey

I needed to write this before you answered me. You are sleeping right now, which gives me the perfect opportunity to finally breathe some life onto this page.

We embark on a journey from the moment we are born and until the day we die. We do not choose to be thrust into this world. Some may consider this quite unfair. I, on the other hand, am glad I was not given the choice to be born, because that is one less thing off my shoulders. I may have not decided to come into the world had I known beforehand how much cruelty and destruction humans are capable of. But one thing is certain: I would have also missed out on the beautiful and miraculous possibilities of love. Therefore, since I am here anyway, I am happy with my decision to do my best to make an impact, whether it be small or large. Either one is fine by me, and both are completely out of my hands. Truly, it is better this way.

Throughout life, we embark on sub-journeys, as well, smaller ones that are often considered phases. Their lengths vary from days, to weeks, to months, to years, and I would not, by any means, claim that they all carry the same importance. Some are the fruits of crazy mood-swings (referring to my fellow women on that one); others hit us after we experience moments of impact: things, people, places, situations, or circumstances that jolt us out of our comfort zones and hurl us into uncharted and, at times, frightening territories. I believe, however, that to a great extent their consequences are directly related to the attitude with which we confront them. We choose how to react to everything, and I do not think it is idealistic of me to say that good can be found in every dark crevice, as long as we agree to put the effort into searching among the nooks and crannies.

I have been on one of these sub-journeys during the last four weeks while you were traveling. Who knew that your trip would have such a direct impact on me, even though we were separated by thousands of miles? But it was not really you or your trip… Rather, it was that letter I wrote you, which, I now realize, had more to do with me than with you. I still want your answer, but now I have also found mine – And it is much deeper and much more beautiful than I ever expected.

The first two weeks you were gone were hard. Although I am able to keep fairly cool and collected on the outside, those that know me well enough understood immediately how tumultuous I felt inside. My friends are angels for having put up with my moods and ramblings like they did (thank you!). But the last two weeks were better, and they were accompanied by a feeling of having come into my own. I have been waiting, quietly learning, looking within myself, slowly but surely growing into a better version of the person I wish to be: more patient, more calm, more mature, more trusting, more focused; less anxious, less desperate to have all of the answers right now; allowing things to flow and giving them the time they need to prosper and flower.

I am not in control. It is not up to me. I can put forth my best attitude and work hard to do my part, but the rest is out of my hands. I choose to offer it up as a gift, as a thank you for all of the immense amount of gifts I have received in my mere twenty-seven years on this planet, not really understanding how, in God’s name, I came to deserve all of this, but also, not arguing… Simply accepting, receiving and, most importantly, giving back as much of that love as I can muster, while also understanding and accepting that whatever has to happen, will, becuase the wheels are in motion. They have always been in motion, even if I was not responsible for getting them going, but only for giving them a slight nudge.

I put myself out there already and I am doing so again as I write this. And you know what? It’s OK. There is such an incredible strength that comes from abandoning ourselves to our vulnerability and sharing it with those whom we love. There are times when I feel like my heart might explode of happiness, and I feel it mostly when I allow my soul to bear itself freely. It is a feeling that I have always failed to accurately put into words, and so I apologize for how cliché this sounds. But you are all cool readers, you’ll get over it.

Now, I humbly and patiently wait for you to do your part. My journey will continue, with or without you, in whatever capacity in which it is meant to continue. At the end of the day, no matter your answer, I will still be me, the Earth will still be turning, and I will still wake up everyday with two very clear and distinct choices: to love or to hate.

And I will always, always choose to love, no matter the cost.

Photo by: Belén Alemán / Muir Woods, California, USA

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