I’ve been wanting to write this post for several months now. Wanting to, needing to, meaning to, but scared to.
I delayed writing this post because I kept expecting everyone to tell me I was being ridiculous. I’ve spent all year scrutinising reactions, waiting for someone to laugh, to scoff, to say that I should remain safe in my cozy cocoon.
That I shouldn’t be closing my eyes and flinging myself off a cliff with nothing but the hope of finding a current of swirling air to hold my weight and carry me to glittering shores.
That my savings should be used for a house deposit; that I shouldn’t be breaking up with lovely men on account of kisses feeling like promises I can’t keep.
But, you see, a funny thing happened. Every time I talked to people who love me and know me, all I heard was support and excitement. When I started making excuses and stepping backwards, I was gently (and sometimes sternly) pushed forward again.
E.Moonbeams pointed out that you can’t jump off a cliff while keeping one leg on the edge as a precaution. Doing so is physically and metaphorically impossible.
Next week, I’ll be handing back the master keys at work, shutting down my office computer for the last time, and trying not to think about the lack of future payslips.
The week after that, I’ll begin clearing out of my place, taking only my most cherished possessions back to my parents’ house for safekeeping.
And then, on the evening of August 2nd, I’ll be stepping off a plane in New York, feeling the dizzying, giddy, breathlesschoking, overwhelming, exhilarating, terrifying joy that comes with having cut off ties to day-to-day routines back home, and having only wildjazzydancing adventures before me.
I don’t know yet exactly where I’ll go or how long I’ll spend in the United States. I don’t know whether or not Canada will grant me the working visa I’ve applied for. I don’t know whether health issues or an unforeseen event will change the trajectory of the dream I’m dreaming, right now, sitting here on my rose-covered bed, telling you.
But I do know this:
Here, today, tomorrow, these are my only. These are what I have, what I know, what I am. These are my pockets of time, mine, and I can’t breathe without knowing I’m doing all I can to live them utterly, utterly, mine, my only.
I’ll be at Amber and Matt’s wedding, and before then Amber and I will sit on her kitchen floor during the witching hours, laughing and whispering as we eat spoonfuls of dessert.
I’ll be in Utah, hiking and bantering with someone who came into my life through serendipity. Thank you, serendipity.
I’ll be seeing my Lisa, my darling, again in Toronto, and I might just stay. (The lure of a welcome dance dessert party is too much for me to resist.)
As for the rest? The other months, the next year? I don’t know. I don’t know where life will take me. But I’m not going to be afraid anymore. I’m not going to let anxiety over something going wrong prevent me from embracing what I’ve already put in place.
So here is my announcement, my dream, my happening (oh, please let it happen!):
Wayfaring Chocolate is getting back to wayfaring. And I can’t wait to take you with me.
P.S. If anyone knows of a couch in New York that would like to welcome me into its arms in early August, I’d be more than happy to acquiesce. (I’m very generous that way.) In fact, if there are any couches in any cities that would like me to visit, let me know! I could even bring Vegemite, if asked nicely.