Last week I said my first good-bye, and the whole thing started to sink in a little bit.
A couple of days later I was on a long run, past the early discomfort and into the zone where the mind is relaxed enough to wander. Thoughts shot around in there, but there was a moment of stillness right before, "Why am I doing this?"
The trip, not the run.
Why indeed? I had to go through the whole thing, as if I had to convince myself that it really is a great idea. Which it is.
But there I was, faced with the reality of leaving these people I love for at least a year. And that's bound to happen as I live on, over and over again, but it doesn't make it any easier. So the pitch started running.
I've always wanted to live in another country, always wanted the opportunity to travel around Europe. I need something to do, and now's a great time for something like this; I have no roots, no furniture, even. Plus, I already have my plane ticket. Is that enough?
Not quite.
Life is a collection of experiences. That's what this is about. That's why. That's enough.
The world is so accessible. When I was little, I remember hoping I would be able to visit another country just once in my lifetime. Now I'm going to live in one, years after my first visit. It awes me still.
Everything is there. You just have to go.
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