The Girl, She Moves
October 4, 2014 § Leave a comment
The first thing I wrote in Glasgow was, “I do not want to live in the U.K. and hate myself.” Which, reading now, seems dramatic. And, maybe not directly but definitely inspired by the first line of Lena Dunham’s book, which I read with lightening speed and a swelling heart. But here’s the thing: I left France sobbing. Instead of taking street style photos of cool girls in Paris going to and from Fashion Week shows, I cried in my hotel room and occasionally got up to look at the Eiffel tower sparkling. More drama. Mass text I sent: “I miss a farm, bad.”
Traveling is like summer camp. I don’t care what anybody says. Especially in the sense that time works differently. It expands and swallows you, for the better, if you’re in a place that makes you feel ways you can’t explain without long sighs and stuttering. And when you hurl yourself thousands of miles in the opposite direction, you wonder why you didn’t anticipate feeling in excess. Or, if your assigned seat for the five hour train ride north is a seat facing south and the only thing you can physically do is watch the place you didn’t want to leave move further away from you, it’s a reminder of the choices you make and how you let them hurt you (what I tell myself). And I’m glad, in my heart of hearts, that feeling has always been in excess.
I’m in Oban, Scotland which is so overcast and quant I want to ask every resident how they’ve kept it away from me until now. Before I arrived, I went back to the US for a few days, which I can only describe as being awkward (jet-lag, driving a car on the highway, brewed coffee) and also exceptional (drinking bourbon in Mecca’s late night, red glow with Danny, Marissa, and Darrin).
Really, I don’t want to live anywhere and not feel a longing to see what else is out there. Uprooting myself because I can, and because understanding how to feel is something I value. I’ll upload photos I took from my last bike ride through rural France before I made it a point to put my camera away (there are images better off in the part your mind that eventually fails you). There are bad mornings, but sometimes there are mornings where you eat the air and peddle a bike that doesn’t feel like a bike but an excuse to fall in love with the horrifically good sensations there are to be felt.