It took a trip back home to notice how much my life has changed in the last two months.
I left my job, my bachelorette pad, I gave away the majority of my clothing, cut my hair (by 12 inches), said goodbye to friends, and left the comforts of traditional indoor plumbing among others.
And I was okay with it.
Moving to California and figuring out a way to pay the bills as a writer was at the top of my list of personal goals, and I thank the powers above that I was actually able to actually do it.
So when the opportunity arose to sail to Mexico with the love of my life, I felt fulfilled enough in those goals to take the risk.
I traded the little world I manifested for myself for an adventure of a lifetime.
But the adventure has been put on hold. The life I prepared for morphed into a life I never thought it would have.
As the French say, c’est la vie.
Plans changes, things happen.
Building A New Life
I was confident I could bounce back and figure out a way to get by.
This “la la la” mentality acted as a safety harness to make the big jump.
People do it all the time, I thought. I’ve built a life for myself and I can do it again.
So I took a deep breath and made an effort to acclimate to my surroundings.
I got a new license with my new address, settled into my new home (of about 28-by-9-feet living space), applied for jobs (so far, to a publishing company, a weed store, as a personal assistant, and Uber.)
Got used to nuances of sailboat life (no refrigeration, no indoor shower, no closet, no extra space), and sought comfort in a new way to exist.
The Road Less Traveled Is A Bumpy One
But it has not been easy.
I struggle every day to keep positive, and I’ve discovered the culprit.
For the first time, I realize that I have no goal, no huge accomplishments to conquer.
I feel no real purpose for being in this new environment.
This grey area made me realize I hadn’t visualized life after the sailing around the world.
That I’ve never thought about what a future could look like with a partner.
I took a moment to check in.
I dug around beneath the mental noise and uncomfortable emotional situations, and I found bigger questions that needed answers:
What do I really want out of all of this?
And most of all, what am I not willing to give up?
In a weird way, I find comfort in this uncertain state.
That it’s okay to be bored, confused, and a little scared.
And that one day I’ll look back with compassion over these growing pains and admire the steps I took to make it through.
Maybe for some of us, it takes trading in the familiar to understand what’s most important.