It’s interesting how I can go from moods of wanting to be around people all the time to wanting to be alone with my thoughts and my writing. Polar opposites that somehow comprise who I am. Sometimes incredibly outgoing and other times shy and introverted. These moods of solitude strike every now and again out of the blue, undetectable to a strangers eye.
The epic Don Quijote tour is approaching and I find myself digging in my heels, wanting to spend the weekend alone doing whatever “I” want to do. I feel a twinge of guilt, thinking about the possible random adventures to be had; but also thinking about how nice it would be to sit outside a cafe, read, and work on my book. Meander around the various boutiques and buy some summer clothes and accessories. Drink wine in my freshly cleaned apartment and enjoy a homemade batch of brownies. Next weekend I’m going to Italy for 5 days..last weekend I went on an epic adventure in Galicia, maybe it’s okay to just have some time to myself. Still, there is that twinge of...Should I? On the other hand, just to contrast with how much I’ve grown up, I really just want to be alone for a weekend. Two months ago I was practically terrified to be by myself, now I’m thinking of going to a couple museums in Cordoba by my lonesome, happily.
This afternoon I stopped by the post office across the street to send a postcard to my Grandma, someone I miss all the time. I finished writing a couple others, but haven’t officially sent them off. I’m content with my selection, each unique and personalized. By the time I made it home I had just missed the delivery guy, I received another package from my Mom, complete with a cute jacket, two new pairs of blue mittens, low sodium ramen noodles (picante!), and about 12 new books. I’m currently 455 pages into Stephanie Meyer’s “Breaking Dawn” and 293 pages into David Baldacci’s “Saving Faith”--it’s a political thriller, something I normally wouldn’t get sucked into, but I really like his style. The story is told through the perspective of about 4 different main characters, each chapter alternates their stories. It’s an interesting approach, something I’m not talented enough to take on. It’s difficult enough to create the voice of one character, let alone tell a cohesive story through the eyes of 4 distinct characters. Insert deep longing sigh here. The looming thought in the back of my head, to be honest, is that my writing isn’t good enough. Ultimately, that I’ll never amount to anything and I’ll be one of those people settling for another occupation, always thinking of what could have been, always wishing they were more talented. Not so positive, eh?
I have been meaning to get around to writing regales of my travels in Galicia. Not in the mood just yet, probably when I upload my pictures. However, Baiona and the roaring wind reminded me so much of the Sonoma Coast and my family. Our family photos are littered with pictures of my brother and I jumping on rocks like little conquerors and howling happily into the wind. I sat on this massive black rock that jutted into the ocean for a good half an hour. Contentedly staring at the waves crashing, observing a quiet fisherman and taking note of the faraway lands obscured by the low puffy clouds. It was the first place I’ve been in Spain that felt like home. Memories of home were fresh and palpable. Particularly, the photo of the three most important women in my life taken at the coast: my Grandmother, my Mother and my Great Aunt. I don’t know why but it makes me cry to think about it, I guess I’m just missing them and wishing Lenna was still alive so I could call her and tell her that I finally did it, just like she always hoped I would.
It sounds strange, but I hope I’m making her proud. Traveling has always been an important aspect of life to my family. I was raised looking at exotic antiques from foreign lands, reading books from India, listening to Lenna speak in Spanish over dinner, and learning how to say words in French from her letters. There is a picture of Lenna and my grandmother sitting on a camel in Egypt, wearing elegant flats and skirts with fabulous old school sunglasses and platinum blonde hair. They are just..amazing.
I had never wanted to travel before the summer of my Junior year of College. All at once, it hit me like a train--I had to get moving, get away and get out. I marched down to the study abroad office and called my Mom a few minutes later, “What do you think about me going to London?” and of course, true to form and family tradition, “It’d be a wonderful experience, absolutely.” I’m not sure what changed in me. It was a year for personal growth. That winter was known as the 100 year storm, and will always remain my emotional rock bottom. What occurred to me then, what really sunk in, is that in the end--we are the ones who can change our lives. Friends will be there to show you the light at the end of the tunnel, but we are the ones who have to get our hands dirty, roll up our sleeves, and start putting things back together (usually better done with a smile on your face).
I just started tutoring another girl named Laura on Wednesday’s, her parents are teachers at my school. After our first lesson, they showed me the pictures of their favorite vacations/expeditions around Spain. They have also co-authored three travel books about Cabo de Gata. There were pictures of Laura at two years old, trekking along side her bold parents in front of these breathtaking landscapes. I realized, that’s the kind of life I want to lead. I want to travel and explore the world, and eventually instill that appreciation in my kids. They are an amazing family and really accomplished; I’m glad I got to see a version of a married couple that seemed slightly more fitting and attainable..the idea of my other half not as someone to settle down with, but someone to shake things up with, to travel the world with.
This is what I wrote about Baiona in my journal..(per usual on a new favorite bench).
Thoughts come as naturally as the crashing blue-jade waves, in eye-sight only a noble fisherman and the outline of far-away lands in the distance. I can taste the salt when I breathe, everything about the coastal town of Baiona is soothing. It’s nestled between lush rolling hills and the world outside is quieted. While watching the boats lull, the only sounds to be heard are the seagulls, cadenced by the quick whoosh of passersby and waves lapping onto the sand.
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