Although I wrote this four years ago, I’m about to board a plane to meet the same friend referenced in this story, so with a sense of both irony and nostalgia, I’m reposting it here.
It should be noted:
At the time I was in my mid 20’s and I seemed to perceive being an adult as a trade-off where I could either:
Grow into the traditional role of an adult and stay in one spot, or,
Have the ability to travel and “go” but not have adult-like amenities such as a long-term relationship and a professional career
After coming across this old writing I was delighted to recognize that I unconsciously overruled that binary mentality.
I now have a lifelong supportive partner, a professional career, and the flexibility to travel and go as often as I please.
So YAY to never evolving into the kind of adult that I feared, to airports and explorations, and to still using words like YAY.
September 4, 2012
Another weekend, another trip. One more puzzle piece in place on the map of places I’ve been.
How many times have I been on a plane? Why do I love this feeling of getting away, of being somewhere new, and setting foot on ground I’ve never walked before? Why is it so gratifying to see, smell, taste, and feel a new place? It’s addicting, yet it still satisfies each time.
The ability to go is priceless and irreplaceable.
One day it won’t be as easy to just get out of town. Money, time, and attention will flow towards priorities that have progressed into real responsibilities (husband? family? mortgage?!?)
However…I’m not there yet…I’ve still got plenty of distance to travel and the desire to never stop moving.
So from hundreds of feet in the air, in this cramped window seat, watching my best friend ask the flight attendants where she can charge her iPhone on the plane (she can’t), I laugh and think life is good.