If I go back to school in the spring, then that ties up my whole summer, which means no traveling and all the money spent on transportation is wasted. But if I wait until the fall, then I’m probably going to remain unemployed for a while (not ok) unless I rebuild my kit and start freelancing again by prom season…. But if I’m freelancing again, if I can get back to where I was, then what’s the point of going back to school because I’ll already be making bank and then this program will only be a backup plan. Ugh! Too many decisions to be made!

My dad was completely enthralled by the idea of this blog and suggested that I write about our adventures and title it, “Lost in Seattle” as I’m frequently getting myself, and others, lost. (I’m still working on it, dad.) My lack of directional and navigational skills were in abundance during my stay — taking a left turn when we should have turned right, ending up at a party store when we were looking for a Walgreens, illegal u-turns that would make someone with mild amaxophobia have a heart attack, you name it. So for the purpose of the trip, I changed the title of my entire blog. Now it’s even more fitting, in ways I never anticipated; now I’m just lost.

I miss the city, it gave me a high. Albeit, a temporary high, it was exhilarating. But I didn’t find what I was looking for in Seattle. To be honest, I’m not even sure just what I was looking for in the first place. Truth? Love? Happiness? Guidance? Home? All applicable.

What I found were harsh realities: That I don’t miss him, but the idea of him. That sometimes no closure is closure. That densely populated does not mean less lonely. That it really is true — wherever you go, there you are — and translates to, “I’m not happy anywhere, because I’m not truly happy with myself.” My self-esteem took a real beating last year. That sometimes truth requires looking in the mirror. That sometimes guidance comes in the form of unimaginable heartache. That home is not a house, nor a place, not even a person, but a sense of peace and love within oneself.

I know that we’re not supposed to run away from our problems, but maybe sometimes the best way to get a grip on them, is to leave them be for a while so you can come back and tackle them later with a greater sense of clarity. I left Seattle with a heavy heart and I haven’t been able to recover.

So I did something a little off.

I purchased a one-way ticket to Denver, Colorado. It’s the starting point of something probably bigger than I can even imagine. Something in my life has to change. Something that’s not going to happen being anchored here with this sense of apathy toward life and fear toward the possibility of (or lack of) love.

I’m going to “backpack” through Colorado, Utah and Arizona. I want to see Great Sand Dunes National Park, Mesa Verde National Park, White River National Forest, Glen Canyon and Lake Powell, The Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Zion National Park (if I could only go to one place this summer, this would be top of the list at number one), Canyonlands National Park, Capitol Reef National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, etc.

I want to go camping, hiking, fishing, rock climbing, bicycling, bungee jumping, skydiving. I want to stay in hostels. I want to get my hands dirty. I want to be out of my comfort zone. I want to witness sunrises and sunsets that make me feel alive again. I want to renew my sense of self. I want to meet new people, I want to have new experiences, create some crazy memories, and document my adventures in videos and pictures.

Maybe I’ll be adventurous enough to invite someone with me. I said I’d never do that again, but maybe it’ll be fun. Maybe it’ll be worth the risk. Maybe it’ll be proof to myself that I’m not letting the past hold me back any longer. Or maybe I won’t, we’ll see.

I have to get out of Washington for a while. I have to do something for myself, whether or not it upsets anyone else. I have to let myself heal, in more ways than one. I have to, possibly, lose myself even further to be able to find myself again, or to build myself back up, I don’t know. But I’m willing to find out, so…

I have a proposition for you: Let’s make a promise to ourselves. Let’s get back to the basics. Let’s do whatever it takes to learn what our own definition of happy is, in however long it takes to discover. Let’s renew our passions, whatever they may be. Let’s dance, skip, run, jump, and yell until we can’t anymore. Let’s love to our full capacity. Let’s let go for a little while. Let’s sing too loud and out of key. Let’s laugh too much and make others smile with our presence. Let’s lose control in the best ways possible.

Let’s get lost.

It is 4:05AM and I’m currently unable to sleep, but then, what else is new?

I leave for the city in a few days, and honestly, I couldn’t be more… Relieved. That’s a good word for this. You don’t know how many times I’ve contemplated the idea of not coming back in the last few weeks. What if I didn’t? What if I just stayed? What if I just decided to make this my next adventure, to start over somewhere new and slightly unfamiliar?

There was a point in my life where my dream was to save up just enough money to get myself out of my small-town-country-home in Washington. Not necessarily because I wanted to leave, but because the idea of staying in one place too long really shook me up and made me feel uncomfortable, perhaps claustrophobic, I’m not sure.

I would live there just long enough to save for another move, until I’d circled the globe and experienced all the people, places, cultures, etc., that I’d ever wanted.

For the last year I was debating moving to Portland, Oregon or Colorado. Portland was far, but it wasn’t too far from family and friends and it was still in the PNW. But at the same time, it didn’t feel far away enough and I always figured Colorado would be the closest I could get to a “home away from home” without actually being home. We looked in Boulder and Aurora, anything on the outskirts of Denver so we could be close to the city without the hustle and bustle of it. The idea of spending a winter in Colorado thrilled me. It has all the outdoor components that I love about Washington, but it’s not in Washington, and that prospect made me happy. You could argue that I could find those things anywhere, but I’m here to tell you that you cannot, and I can’t explain it, I don’t know how, but you’re just going to have to trust me on this one.

In late August, I learned of some family issues and I got the opportunity to pull myself out of debt (long story), and all I had to do was stick around Yakima just a little while longer. What’s more, is that I realized that I couldn’t leave yet because I didn’t know how much time I might have, especially after squandering away the last couple of years. So those thoughts were cast aside.

What I can say is: I have a very strong sense of pride to have been raised in Washington state. I’m not even entirely sure why, but it gives me great pleasure to say so, ha.

But what happened to those dreams? I don’t think it’s really all that unattainable.

In a few days, I’ll be in Seattle for a bit of an extended stay. This will be the first time in years that I’m going for more than business or passing through on my way to Bellingham or Vancouver, BC. I spend a lot of time there for work and I never get to do anything before I have to come home, so I’m pretty excited that I get to actually spend some time in the city, see my family, and do some exploring; go on some adventures and maybe (probably) get myself lost more than a handful of times. I feel like a little tourist in a place I’m at so often, but it tells me that I’m not taking my time there for granted, and that’s a good thing.

Whenever I have to come back to Yakima, I initially feel a little nostalgic — I think of all the times I drove that route with my parents when I was younger. We had to do the Seattle-and-back a few times a month for my dad’s doctor’s appointments. My little sister and I hated going, because we hated sitting in the car, and we hated sitting in the waiting room — we particularly hated any combination of sitting and waiting that those kind of visits entailed. But my parents always made it worth it somehow. A few times they’d take us down to the piers and we’d go to the aquarium or they’d let us ride the carousel a few times. Once, they took us on the ferry to Baindbridge Island, and riding the ferry is nothing new to residents, but I’d never been on one before and I remember the sense of excitement I felt to be experiencing something new and foreign to me. They’d take us down to the beach and let us take off our shoes and socks and wade in. Or we’d hit up Pike Place and watch the buskers do their thing.

I think of every single rest stop we’d have to hit up on the way home, I know them all too well. Or how my sister and I would count the “waterfalls” (it was really just water trickling from the barriers, lol) when we drove over the pass. We were always so amazed by them, ha! I think of the weird music and radio talk shows my parents listened to in the car. How I always tried my hardest to stay awake, but almost always failed. And how always, without fail, we’d hit a certain spot right before we entered Selah, that I’d wake up. Like somehow I knew I was home and it was only a matter of minutes before we’d pull into the driveway of our country home.

After the nostalgia wears away, it turns to a great sense of sadness. It’s almost unexplainable, the weight it places on me. I don’t even remember when this started happening. I used to feel relief when we got home.. I knew I would be crawling into bed that night, ready and willing to pass right out, and school awaiting me the next day. At some point over the last couple of years, that relief has turned to dread. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore, it hasn’t for a long while. It extends far beyond having a broken family, though — my parents have split up, my dearest and closest friends have moved away, I don’t feel as though I can expand on my business here anymore than I already have, and I have met a lot of great people, but I haven’t met one single person that I have felt any sort of genuine connection with.

I’m so ready to be out of here, but it’s going to take a giant leap of faith to muster up the courage to do so, because everything I’ve worked so hard for is here. It’ll be hard to re-establish myself anywhere I go, I need my heart to be in it completely or I will fail and that is not an option.

So having a long break from Yakima is definitely welcomed. I’ve never been more homesick for a place that isn’t even really home, than I have been the past six months or so.

I’m ready to spend some time away to clear my head and continue the healing of my heart. I’m ready to see my dad. It’s been two years, I’m ready to face him and I’m praying it’ll be nothing but good times.

I want to go ice skating, haha. I’m want to play at an open mic. I want to ride on a ferry again, just for the sake of it. My dad’s place sits adjacent from the Space Needle, and I want to be front and center for the fireworks come New Year’s Eve. I want to do some serious shopping (Yakima doesn’t have a Sephora or a Victoria’s Secret!) and I want to recreate these pictures except without those gross creatures to ruin my glamor shots, haha:

As of late, daydreaming makes me happiest. I’m hoping in the next few weeks, a little change of scenery and company will turn that around a little bit and my reality will become better than I dream.

But even if it doesn’t, then I’ll know, and I can refocus my attention to my January and February aspirations.