In the last few days, I've been sipping the words of this book, a mind-holing read from Paul Theroux. He also writes non-fiction, travel accounts, but this was a fictional story set in India, a country which changed everything in my mind about life and travel, in the three short weeks I was there in 2005. This book feels India.
"Not a journey anymore, not an outing or an interlude, but seeing the world; not taking a trip, not travel with a start and a finish, but living her life. Life was movement"
I've been sitting at home all morning, mostly on my orange sofa, with fresh French press coffee, beans from Stumptown in Portland, remnants of my mom and sister's visit. Reflecting on time and space, after finishing my read. Radiohead. Elliott Smith. Pearl Jam. Others on the Ipod. Sunlight streams. Pajamas remain.
"Life is movement." A perfect quote in this time of life. My family gone. My grandma died.
I am here. Still and quiet.
Wondering sometimes what it's all about. What is next. Planning trips. Istanbul? Athens? Tunisia? Bucharest? Three-day weekends coming up, plans should be made.
I've injured my foot. So the Prague marathon is a big question mark.
But life is movement, right? I am moving... even when standing still.
"You went away from home and moved among strangers. No one knew your history or who you were; you started afresh, a kind of rebirth. Being whoever you claimed to be, was a liberation."Living here, in Germany, on my seventh month now, brings questions, only occasionally, what will happen next? Thinking about taking another year or two to travel when my contract is up. Or a change in career. How not to move back to the States.
That part about moving amongst strangers. No expectations. Maybe that's why I have the best relationship with my family when I am away. We are more friendly, less expectational.
Over here, I am free to be whoever I want here. It's true. I am more me than ever. Calm, free, peace.