The last flight I took to D.C. departed at 6 AM. I had to be up and out of the house by 4 AM. Being hungover did not make the task any easier. Why are 6 AM flights even legal? When I left for Jamaica in 2007, I remember heading to the airport at 5 AM, watching the sun rise over the international terminal at O'Hare. Who tortures themselves in such a manner? Three days from now, I will be boarding a plane for Costa Rica at 3:10 AM. I consciously booked this flight complete with a layover in Guatemala, having no Spanish speaking abilities aside from "el bano" and "gordita," over a month ago. My itinerary has hung above my desk the entire time, yet just tonight I caught the devlish glare of neon yellow highlighter beaming the numbers 3:10 AM into my eyes.
I guess you could say it's just hit me now. I am packing my cluttered, disorganized life into a carry-on bag and flying to a foreign country alone. For a month.
For the past five years I have been safe. Scrimping, saving, planning for a future that I had no control over. After Joe and I split a few months ago, I realized what a sheltered and confined life I had been living. I worried about things I shouldn't have been worrying about, dodged my friends which were the only sanity in my life, and dug myself into a dark hole of misery and loneliness. It wasn't until he left that I really found out that what I had been missing out on for so long was life itself. Every day since then I have tried to live with as few regrets as possible. Stay out late, sleep in, drink a little too much, laugh a little too hard, love everyone and everything possible... yet I still seek more. I have never been one to have a plan, persay, but I believe that this experience; my month-long immersion into the yoga lifestyle, culture, spirituality, and whatever else comes my way; will lead me to exactly where I need to be.
Follow me if you wish.
