where the wild things are.

It is beyond funny how the universe works, that when you finally get the stability and spaces you’ve worked so hard towards, you all but want to throw it to the wind and start yourself on the next new adventure. Stability is something I haven’t really known, and if I’m truly honest, the pandemic was the only reason I have allowed myself to let my roots grow deep. Lately I have been catching myself in moments of belated regret. Of conversations, and people that I have allowed to step away from my life. Letting go of the ribbons we grow tired of holding, and keeping close to heart, and surrendering our balloons to the sky.

There will always be new things. The world continues to spin. For better or worse in the way that it always had, and hopefully in the past few months, I have gained the courage I’ve needed to let go of the last remaining pieces I have never had the courage to release, hopefully in exchange of several new pieces that perhaps will take me closer to the places I want to inhabit. I am coming close to a decade in this city, and as bizarre as it sounds, it still feels very much like the very first time I stepped into it. Perhaps this was what was mooring me here to shore, the idea of a constant continuing adventure, that now seems to slowly plateau into the natural being of things; of creature comforts that come with hitting your thirties, and the expectations societally of what naturally must follow.

There will always be signs, for the turning of the tide, a person, an opportunity, an encounter, that will define the months to come, as I grow accustomed to what I will hopefully never get used to. Maybe it’s time for me to start the clock again, a reminder of the constant pursuit, that I have always known, that will never leave. A yearning once more for the other side, and the wild things that come from throwing caution to the wind, and settling for nothing less than a continual adventure, whatever that would look like.