Y’know, I really gotta remind myself sometimes that it’ll all be worth it in the end. That all my hard work is going to finally going to pay off someday. It’s irritating to be such a poor and pitiful peasant all the time… A lot of times I wonder how much different things would be in life if the circumstances were different. The ‘rents proved to be about as useful as a bag of weed and no lighter. Apparently getting strung out and being in back to back abusive and unhealthy relationships and losing your house(s) and not getting your shit together ever were/are deemed more important factors in life than your own flesh and blood that you brought into this world on some unspoken social contract that entails you are supposed to care for said flesh and blood. Nevertheless, the circumstances have actually been beneficial in a way. Most kids I’ve witnessed coming up in broken homes end up just as big of fuck ups as their predecessors. That seems a bit harsh, but true. It’s like people use it as a reservation…. “Oh, my parents were fucked up and on drugs and ruined their lives, so it’s my destiny, my fate. I cannot change it, I’ve no hope in doing so.” I’m so thankful that there is something inside of me, some fire that burns incessantly and screams and fights and instead says, “Oh, my parents were fucked up and on drugs and ruined their lives, so I’m going to learn from that and use my small alotted time here on this planet to do something different. I was put here to do something extraordinary and, goddammit, I’m going to do it.” But there are days where I feel like caving. Breaking. Giving up. Wondering what the fuck it’s all for. I strive to pull myself out of this mess, but sometimes it feels like quicksand and the more I struggle, the more trapped I feel. Being carless in a gigantic city, trying to put myself through school so I can get an education, trying to hold down a job that makes decent enough money that I can sufficiently meet my needs with, living in a house where I get the vibe daily that I am unwanted and that I need to figure out my next move to find another place, and to top it all off, a slew of skeletal concerns that only seem to worsen and cripple me over time. It all overwhelms me. Sometimes I’m ready to call it all off and find me sugar daddy! Haha. But to do so would mean that I was giving up on my dreams. And I’m never going to let that happen. No matter what the fuck happens, come what may, no matter what stupid, unsightly obstacle presents itself in my path to disrupt me- i’m going to overcome that shit. My strength will define me. It doesn’t really matter where I came from. All that matters is that I know where I’m going and I won’t give up until I’m kicking, screaming, bleeding, dying, gasping for my last breath.
I certainly couldn’t have said it better myself! This why everybody should stop making excuses and go out and see the dawn world!
“Travel is never a matter of money but of courage. I spent a large part of my youth traveling the world as a hippie. And what money did I have then? None. I barely had enough to pay for my fare. But I still consider those to have been the best years of my youth.The great lessons I learned has been precisely those that my journeys had taught me.”
I know you. You look through countless of travel blogs, browse through the travel section of the bookstore, read Lonely Planet guidebooks, and National Geographic magazines. You’re in love with city maps, atlases, and globes. You get shivers down your spine when you run your fingers down the tiny blood veins on a map as if it was breathing and coming alive. And it says to you, “Buy a god damn ticket and explore me.” But you don’t, because you…
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I jotted this down in a journal awhile back, but since it’s still highly relavant I thought I’d share it with you guys.
Lately I’ve been feeling rather emotional. Depressed. Redundant. Restless. Stuck. Itchy feet. Bored. Lots of adjectives- not necessarily on the good side.
I remember being excited to come home, I really do. But the novelty wears off all too quickly; and, honestly, I’m convinced that I psyched myself out and made myself stoked because I had no other option at the time than to leave. My money had disappeared quickly; my wallet had grow thin at an alarming rate. I began envisioning ways to extend my time in that beautiful country until my money from Australia would arrive (which would coincidentally arrive right AFTER that fateful time I had never want to come: purchasing my ticket back to Yankville). I was literally so fucking broke at the time that I was actually considering: “Well, I can sleep on the streets using my backpack for comfort and I can eat street food because it’s cheap to wait it out till my funds arrive.” It was such a frightening thought at the time, but I would endure the instability a trillion times over if it meant my thirst for endless spontaneity and adventure could be satiated in the slightest. I choose the uncertainty any day of the week- I feel the greatest lessons to be learned in life are those are learned during a time of discomfort.
I miss the road. I miss its winds and curves and turns and how it carries on for miles and miles in vast, unknown places that I have seen only in dreams and have yet to discover and the joy to become familiar with.
I miss waking up in different hostels, homes, hotels, beds, hammocks, couches, floors- you name it. I simply miss waking up and having the freedom to set my sail in any which direction I so choose, and not having the need to explain to anybody what I’m doing or why I’m doing something.
I miss not being obligated to a routine, a schedule, a set way I must do things. I forever want to be a wanderer, a gypsy, a pursuer of the improbable. To explore the road less travelled, that is my plan. Some might call it ‘running away from your problems,’ and the naysayers, without a doubt, seem to love to spew their nonsense, But I merely like to think of it as ‘running towards my dreams’ – as grandiose they may seem. 😊