If life were a Hollywood movie…

…this would be the part of the movie when the leading lady sells all her stuff, packs her journal, camera, and a few cute outfits, and moves to a different continent.

I don’t know what it is, but the last week or so has been particularly rough. I really didn’t want to post about it, for fear that the post would be perceived as a pathetic pity party, but after some serious thought I’ve decided to write a bit about it. Not because I want a pity party, but because it’s hard to be authentic if one doesn’t talk about the valleys along with the peaks. And unfortunately, it’s been a week in the valley.

Granted, not everything about the past week has been terrible. In fact, there have been a few wonderful moments in which I have felt absolutely loved. But at the end of the day, there has been this sadness that I just can’t find the trigger for. As someone who has always been able to identify my emotions and their causes, this has been rather troubling. And when I can’t find the reason for this crazy mix of emotions, I just want to run away. I want to sell my stuff and travel lightly – go somewhere new and just start over. Embark on an adventure that makes me feel alive again…an adventure that makes me feel something. Anything.

As I sit here in the small coffee shop in my quiet little town, I’m overcome by the fact that I can walk in, order, and sit here typing away without thinking twice about customs or looking out of place. I can tune out the noise around me and not think much about what’s happening elsewhere in the shop. And as nice as it is to blend into the background, I miss the assault on my senses as I walk through Kigali – the bright colors, the oppressive smell of fumes and heat, and the incessant noise of the city. I miss the Italians nearly glaring at me as I walk down the street because I lack bella figure with my tacky American style. I miss the feeling of being extra vigilant of customs as I stroll through the streets of Ireland – so similar to home in so many ways that the need to be extra mindful of different customs brings a quickening of the heart and a sense of life that seems to come only with travel.

Honestly, I’m not sure what the point of this post is, or how to wrap this up. I guess there really isn’t a conclusion to this. No moment of enlightenment or stroke of genius – just a little space to process, share the raw parts of the journey with you all, and ramble on about the need to get on a plane to anywhere. I’m sure that in a few days, the sun will be out again and life will feel beautiful again, but for now, it’s just the rawness and realness of the rough spaces in life that help us appreciate those sunny times when they return.