Gone Fishin’

“When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

-Mary Oliver

It’s time for the rare personal post. I don’t usually do this – I over-shared to an embarrassing degree on Live Journal years and years ago, and it’s soured me. But I’ve got a lot on my mind, and some shitty Pinot Grigio swirling in my belly…

On November 1, 2014, I made a decision. My head was still buzzing from Halloween the night before, where I had sat in a movie theater and watched creepy video art and music that made my organs vibrate. I walked home with my husband in the pouring rain dressed as Alice and the White Rabbit.  I woke up the next morning with this optimism that comes over me in warm waves every few months or so, when I have faith that the world won’t flatten itself.

So I booked a trip to Europe. A big one. A month-long one.

I am very, very lucky. I have so much in my life to be grateful for. I know I sound like some Eat, Pray, Love asshole. But I don’t care. I want to taste the oysters in every lovely and ugly place, and I know that my chickenshit tendencies are the only obstacle to these things. Well, that and not having stacks of money. But I’ve heard it all works out in the end (even if the end means being dead and penniless), so I’ll take my chances on that. I also know that this may very well be the last chance I have to do this kind of trip. Life happens, and plans falls through. Priorities shift. It all gets sick and old before you know it.

So here I am with my brain ticking its little countdown to September 9. Feeling scared and exhilarated. Picking country-appropriate outfits in my head. Imagining all the different cheeses I’ll eat and the people I’ll meet. Creeping out of my comfort zone. Preparing to be berated for my poor French, but perhaps complimented for my decent Spanish. Feeling like a much smaller and much bigger person in this world. Let us go…


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