Window Seat.

The continual low lying inevitability of my journeys end finds me. It finds me with a ticket, a window seat, and one final romantic view. The anxiety of returning to my deeply beloved ‘shark infested waters’ of home drift away. In replace of the nerves is understanding that this place I am flying into is no more my home. Home, being another constraint of life in the form of a word. A word so deeply entangled with emotion its existence in your mind creates an illusionary binding to something physical. Home, is not a place just like a photograph is not a memory. This is simply us begging emotions to be tangible. After eight months of dorm rooms, hammocks, sketchy indian floors, shamanic huts, airports, beaches, ice cold glacial villages sans electricity, the fiery side of a Cambodian road, a swiss strangers shoulder, a hospital outside a Pakistani desert, an overcrowded minivan with twenty nauseous vietnamese, a tube down a river, a luxury resort, a train station in a Mumbai slum, my bed with clean sheets and my dog. Anywhere, all of it. My home is where I rest my weary head, where I close my tired eyes.

Power lays in my hands next to this ticket. I have all the knowledge in what I need in this moment, boarding this plane from Bogota, Colombia to the U.S. of A. If I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t be boarding. To start the next chapter, to chose health, generosity, compassion. To choose to live authentically, consciously, using the majestic wisdom of the world. Continuing to be my own best friend. Nurturing myself every step, every morning, every meditation. Especially in the failures, the slip ups. Do not dwell when you get off track. When you have a bad day, when you feel defeated or self conscience. Be there with it. Go deeper within. Choose love, be light. Know, something will come after you everyday and everyday it will fail greatly. Let it fail greatly.

Go into your ideas. One productive to do list at a time. Stay healthy. Connect with Earth. Sleep well. Go to Barcelona. Draft the manuscript. Give love. Tend bar. Be. Grow. Experience and become. Your journey was absolute, even in all of its risk. Always remember, the moments that the world stopped, every break of dawn, every bead of sweat, every grim realization of world poverty and the plight of the children born to it. Remember, the incredible humans and all of the laughter. The initial idea of the endless danger is now curiously, the greatest laugh of all. Your triumphs. You. Her. Gentle. calm. free. Always remember this.

“Not all who wander are lost” I chose not to acknowledge the phrase. Every time I open this leather bound journal, the quote stares at me, asking me to believe in it. I don’t.
I have been with it every day, every climate,stabbing it with a pen,letting it bleed words, carrying it on my back. However, never have I come to truly understand the statement, “not all who wander are lost”. There is no lost. Lost, like home is a feeling and maybe a few journal entries back, six hours deep in a hail storm on a mountainside. I was quite literally closer to the never to be found again kind of lost. But, I am both, eternally lost and absolutely found.

I no longer feel like a prisoner to the condescending nature of the term, ‘wanderer’. I am much more then this, ‘one who wanders’. I am a student, fundamentally, now and forever, should there be breathe in my lungs, I will learn from each one.

I don’t feel pressure to conform to emotion, ideal or my networks portrayal of the kind of person I am, be it traveler, wanderer, lost. I am and I am not. Everything. You learn dichotomy as you ‘wander’ between being lost and being home. When it comes to dichotomies, life is full and should I ever decide to be one thing in this world, it is exactly that…Full.

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