I could go on and on about why it’s been months since I last wrote anything…but I’m not going to. Suffice it to say, I wanted to write again, so here I am. There’s something so freeing about a blog that no one in your real life has access to.
Currently I’m living in Seville, Spain. I decided I wanted to brush up on my Spanish, boost my possible Fulbright or teaching abroad application, and get the hell out of LA for the summer. So here I am. In the past seven days I’ve visited Barcelona (Sagrada Familia…wow), Lisbon (please send all the pasteis de Belem), and now Seville, where I’ll be for 4 weeks.
Even though I’m scared of change, I love traveling. I don’t know why, entirely. I think there’s something about feeling independent and on my own. It’s more than just vacation. It’s the knowledge that I can manage life half a world away from where I normally live. That’s fairly rad.
I’ve been thinking, though, about how my life in a cult like church prepared me for being a world traveler. Or didn’t prepare me; I don’t really know, so I’m throwing this out there for thought. In some ways, I think, having been ripped out of my culture and thrown adrift from it, with no possibility to ever return–and a culture that was incredibly insular and fear based, at that–has prepared me to navigate other cultures more easily. I hate change. I long for settling down, for having a place I can call mine…but I also can never rest. I constantly want to be moving and doing things. And though I hate the initial traveling to somewhere, I love learning a new place and then before I know it I just settle, in an odd way, into wherever I am. Time enters a weird wrinkle where it feels like I’ve always been there. I wonder sometimes if it has to do with the fact that my adolescent experiences taught me to find grounding in myself, in the things about myself that I love and refuse to change no matter how outdated they seem to others. Those things…they’re always coming with me. And as long as I know those things, my location seems somehow less important. I’ll get used to it…to anything. Really. It’s odd. The way in which it feels like I could so easily pack up and leave everything and everyone I know and be okay.
Maybe it’s all an illusion. Or more likely, perhaps is less good adjustment for traveling and more attachment issues. I can’t or don’t want to attach healthily to anyone or anything so I keep this veneer of being able to leave them all at the drop of a hat. I don’t know. I know it reeks of self destruction. But I also can’t stop it.
So there I am. Sorry for the string of consciousness, but since it’s unlikely anyone will read this I suppose it’s okay. Does my past make me a different traveler, adapting to cultures in some ways, but in others never changing regardless of my culture? Perhaps. I mean, our experiences always affect us. So yes. But hopefully this is one thing I can use in my favor.