If there is one thing travel has taught me, it is that I am my own best company.
If it’s taught me anything else, it’s that I can also be my own worst company.
It’s somewhere in between both that I find my place. Somewhere between the dark and light, I find a friend. I find myself.
There is fear and there is courage, and somewhere in between, there is me.
The best moments were those that came quickly and quietly, gone nearly before I knew they were there. It was both nothing and everything.
It was the mist upon my face, the sky an expanse of blue. It was walking the length of the river, strawberry ice cream in hand. It was the reservoir and it was the lake. It was icewine and figs and truffle sauce.
It was flirting with a waitress in The Village, staying for one round of coffee too many. It was standing at the corner of Church and Wellesley for a second time on a second day, because once was not enough. It was queer books and queer voices, and my feet standing somewhere between them.
It was the people, the strangers.
It was me, just me.
It was the questions I asked myself, and the way in which I answered them. It was looking at the woman in the mirror and finding a friend looking back. It was self doubt and self awareness, entangled with fleeting bouts of bravery.
Most of all, it was watching how I acted in the small moments, alone within myself. Just me.
It was standing and breathing on my own. Deciding what to eat, where to go. Who to be.
It was the silence surrounding the Falls. It was lyrics replaying in my head. It was words on a page. It was gentle voices echoing in the subway.
It was everything.
Seeing myself apart from anyone else, it was revelatory.
It was one thing to fly to another country alone, but to sleep and wake and walk, to live within said country… that was something else entirely.