“If you want to go back for an umbrella I can wait for you, but I don’t want one. I don't want to carry it,” I say, looking out at the rain from the entryway of our apartment building.
“As long as you know you’ll be soaked by the time we get there…” Connor says.
I nod. Connor decides against the umbrella and we start walking towards the light rail, stopping to drop off keys to our apartment so our friends can water our plants while we’re gone.
“What are your goals for the trip?” I ask.
“To be present. To read a lot… to see a lot of good music. What about you?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
I think about this for hours. I know what I want to do but that’s not what I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about how I want to grow.
The last time I traveled on this side of the Atlantic, I was half a decade younger. I wonder how my experiences traveling will feel different now that I’ve been a teacher, now that I’ve moved to several other cities, now that I’m (marginally) older and in a different life stage.
The plane descends over Iceland for our layover, and I see the outlines of a group of whales (not sure what kind) just below the water. And I’m not sure if it’s because I just saw a documentary on the evolutionary journey of whales, or because I just love them, but it brought me to tears.
What are my goals for this trip? In what ways do I want to grow?
I don’t know yet. But my goal is to stay open to the opportunities for growth that are ahead of me. Each time I travel for this long, I come back having changed how I think and how I experience the things around me. Each time, that growth is unplanned, and each time it is inevitable.
Some times I came back with a better, more empathetic lens for consuming and making art.
Some times I came back realizing I'm more resilient and resourceful than I thought possible.
One time I came back wanting to drop out of college and become a math teacher. (I soon realized I didn’t have to drop out to become a math teacher, and did that.)
Each time, I’ve come back having grown closer to those I traveled with. I understand the people I love more deeply and more sincerely because of these shared experiences.
I’m excited to see what that means this time.
“As long as you know you’ll be soaked by the time we get there…” Connor says.
I nod. Connor decides against the umbrella and we start walking towards the light rail, stopping to drop off keys to our apartment so our friends can water our plants while we’re gone.
“What are your goals for the trip?” I ask.
“To be present. To read a lot… to see a lot of good music. What about you?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
I think about this for hours. I know what I want to do but that’s not what I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about how I want to grow.
How do I want to grow?
The lights in the plane mimic the aurora borealis, and as the plane takes off, we’re immediately enveloped into clouds and I can’t see anything. They’re so thick they look like they’re erasing the plane’s wing from existence as we fly. I can’t even see Mt. Rainier.
The lights in the plane mimic the aurora borealis, and as the plane takes off, we’re immediately enveloped into clouds and I can’t see anything. They’re so thick they look like they’re erasing the plane’s wing from existence as we fly. I can’t even see Mt. Rainier.
The last time I traveled on this side of the Atlantic, I was half a decade younger. I wonder how my experiences traveling will feel different now that I’ve been a teacher, now that I’ve moved to several other cities, now that I’m (marginally) older and in a different life stage.
The plane descends over Iceland for our layover, and I see the outlines of a group of whales (not sure what kind) just below the water. And I’m not sure if it’s because I just saw a documentary on the evolutionary journey of whales, or because I just love them, but it brought me to tears.
What are my goals for this trip? In what ways do I want to grow?
I don’t know yet. But my goal is to stay open to the opportunities for growth that are ahead of me. Each time I travel for this long, I come back having changed how I think and how I experience the things around me. Each time, that growth is unplanned, and each time it is inevitable.
Some times I came back with a better, more empathetic lens for consuming and making art.
Some times I came back realizing I'm more resilient and resourceful than I thought possible.
One time I came back wanting to drop out of college and become a math teacher. (I soon realized I didn’t have to drop out to become a math teacher, and did that.)
Each time, I’ve come back having grown closer to those I traveled with. I understand the people I love more deeply and more sincerely because of these shared experiences.
I’m excited to see what that means this time.
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