It hasn't all been plain sailing: my last fortnight in the UK was overshadowed by an endless to-do list, neuroses to rival those of Woody Allen (I still haven't quite shaken the fear that I will get bitten by a rabid mammal and die, alone in a strange land), and looming emotional goodbyes. I had forgotten all my reasons for wanting to embark on such an ambitious project. I could no longer recall why it had once seemed like such a good idea, why I had felt it necessary to take off on my own for so long, why I couldn't just go to France for a fortnight with a couple of friends and have done with it. All my hankering for adventure had dissipated; I was peeling myself away from a life I loved to pursue a kind of freedom that no longer interested me.
Everyone said it would be fine once I got there, and of course, everyone was right. I am fine. That's not to say I am completely unfazed by the thought of those five months (21 weeks, 148 days) stretching out before me, in which I will have no space that is really mine and no possessions that don't fit into a backpack. But I have some very dear friends here in America, and even though later on I'll be visiting places where I know no one, the Couchsurfing website (which puts travellers in touch with people willing to give them a bed for a night or several - and with each other) is a failsafe way to prevent loneliness in far-flung lands. I've barely been here 48 hours and it has already proved its worth: at around noon yesterday I bought sausages and lemonade and made my way to the Couchsurfing 4th July Potluck Barbeque in Prospect Park. Nine hours later, I was standing on a pier in Manhattan with a group of six different nationalities (American, Bolivian, South African, Swedish, British, New Zealand(ish?)), watching the fireworks over the Hudson River. At the end of the evening, we exchanged contact details and promised to meet again before we all leave. Experiences like this reassure me that even if I am travelling alone, I need never be lonely.
Other than that, my new Travel Shoes have had their maiden voyage and been baptised in Prospect Park mud; I have discovered coffee ice cubes (iced coffee dilution-prevention); I have had a bagel breakfast. This morning, as I ate an orange and watched a colony of Brooklyn ants diligently transporting their eggs from A to B, it started to dawn on me: I am here. This isn't just an idea any more. There are details now, like the sight of those ants and the taste of this orange. I set aside the time and raised the money to fulfil my longest-held dream, and now I am living it.
I have spent the past month telling myself, and listening to other people telling me, that everything about this trip will be okay. Now, finally, I'm actually starting to believe it - aided, in part, by this sign I saw today:
Amen to that.
*jealous face* Enjoy :-)
ReplyDelete