With shaky hands, I cracked a Stella. I've just spent the
last six minutes convincing my front load washer into opening mid cycle and then sifting through my sopping wet sheets, desperately seeking $1200 worth of Euros
and my Passport. Yes. My Passport. A-fucking-gain. I ha
I found it by carefully placed by my precious new journal.
You see, it’s been one hell of a May. For the first time in
my travel life, I’m leaving everything so very incomplete. My house isn’t in
boxes, it's just in shambles – I’ll be keeping it while away for my dog more or less. And Hugo will
be passed around more than the tiding plate at church; Hugo will be between
houses, residing mostly at my Moms, but then spending a few weeks back in BC
with my dear Dog Sitter, then back with my mom again. I’m still worried about these change of hands, as I’ll
be out of cell service (and out of country), unable to make sure he’s okay.
I’m leaving a job, where, even earlier today, I made an offer
to a candidate concluding this happy phone call with “I’ll see you Monday”,
when my last day is tomorrow. Yes, my last work day is tomorrow. And I’ll be leaving this job with mere hints of job opportunities to come – I’ve applied for
a position at that division, very curious as to how we’ll organize the
interview while I’m tromping around France. *Take another sip of beer, Kirstin*
I’m a little baffled at how my 14 month contract concluded so quickly. My
non-travel life has never slipped by so quickly and yet I’m wondering if a
certain Hunter had something to do with it.
I raise my bottle to guy who never
once verbally pondered why I didn’t ask him to come along for this adventure of
mine; this guy who shakes his head at my responses of We’ll do it in August when I mention all the random activities I think we must do throughout this summer. We’ve talked so much about future trips of Asia,
Australia, and Ski-bummin’ in Smithers, the regular mentions of purchasing riverfront property and living
in a fifth wheel (be still my heart) while building our own log house, and yet,
he’s only ever supported my solo trip to trek in Europe. Despite paying rent
in advance for my Cabin, we’re making plans to move in together, and keep the
adventure going. I couldn’t be more happy and sure of this decision.
But there
are conversations that have been left incomplete such as tipsy talks around babies.
I’ve only been ever too honest before with this blog, so truly, why stop now. Suddenly my firm and solid no-offspring rule is wavering. I’m not saying yes,
let’s just be clear. But I am asking questions to my parent friends, to
strangers, hypothetical and too true, and I’m asking myself questions, also. A
blue-eyed, ginger haired little girl who wears Feminist As Fuck T’s and snowboards a
champ has crossed my mind a few times, I'll admit that. I suppose I’ll have approximately 800KMs
to get into the worst corners of my mind and short some of these questions out.
I’ve certainly left my training incomplete for this little jaunt across France and Spain. I feel very unprepared and rather out of shape. I’m worried about the heat I’ll endure, the
weight I’ll bare and the shoes I’ll wear. I know it will be hard, I just don’t
want it to be impossible.
And so I finish the last of my beer and prepare to post this
blog so I can prepare for bed, and I post these fears in giggles of uncertainty and bursts of strong honesty,
wondering how I got so goddamn lucky to be such a happy and scared mess. I suppose
I’m just looking for a bit of reassurance that not only will everything be okay
when I travel, but everything will be okay upon return, too.Truthfully,
A scared and honest traveler.
All we have is now.
