I’ve been feeling claustrophobic. Caged. Stifled. Desolate. My life is not moving as fast as I want it to nor is it running in the direction I had anticipated. We all had plans in our twenties, right? So what happens when you are 29, those plans self-destruct, you leave your boyfriend of three years, move into your own apartment, start dating someone who has more baggage than you and start having panic attacks about never amounting to any of your dreams?
I get the travel itch. The intense urgency in selling as much stuff as I possibly can get rid of, cutting all ties, packing a bag and hitting the road.
I’ve gotten wiser with the getting older…I didn’t sell all my shit and I didn’t quit my job and say, “Fuck it, I’m out,” but I did start selling stuff – anything that wasn’t nailed down and I’m packing a bag for Honduras.
I want to feel like I can breathe. That I’m grabbing life and experiencing it. I don’t want to feel like life is happening to me. I want to FEEL. Be alive. Be inspired and connected. I want to remind myself that I AM superb. I am capable. My life is amazing.
So I’m packing a bag. Going to backpack through Honduras and see if I find a less stressful life somewhere in there for me to bring back home.