T plus 2 days, and if we are looking it from a black and white perspective, I’m an adult. I neither look nor feel remotely adultish, but by default, I am one.
I have spent my past two weeks living somewhat of a nomadic-ish lifestyle; drifting between friends, family, Disneyland, and alone time. I will sing along to Banks at the top of my lungs. I will buy a new book to read a single chapter. I will drink my coffee cold, whilst I read the free newspaper. I will fall in love with every city I encounter. I am here, in Europe, experiencing life as I want to spend the rest of my life living it.
I am a daydreamer – I have said before how I spend stupid amounts of time living inside my head, but those moments where I step out, and really see how I am living life for what it really is; these are the moments I want to remember. I now know that it’s ok to fall in love, even if it only is for a short time. And I know that it’s ok to not admire every castle I encounter, and if I do feel like doing so, that’s more than ok too. I know that if it’s going to make me happy by collecting rubbish from the ocean, or feeding a homeless man crepes, then I should just fucking do it.
And so that’s what I do.
But there are elements of my life at home that I miss. As routine-less as it was, my shambles had some pattern in it. I miss popping downstairs for a coffee and croissant, and going to yoga, and those dreaded morning hikes up Mount Vic. I miss cooking. I miss my friends, and my family, and my rabbits.
I have started enrolling in studios and labs for my new degree. As much as it’s ok (even encouraged) to have no clue what you want to do, I’m finding peace in knowing where I want to end up in life, and spending each day as I want it to happen. I love stationery and writing notes and asking questions and writing. I love writing.
Life is fucking beautiful, and right now I couldn’t think of any other way I would want to spend it.
