As of yesterday, I have been on this mad adventure for four months. And wow, what a ride it has been so far. You name an emotion, and I’ve felt it. From astonishment, adoration and agony to zany, zealous and zen. Most of the time my psyche has been rockin’ the pleasant vibes…but when you are on your own and 80 billion miles from your home and loved ones…well…unpleasant thoughts manage to creep in and do their asshole best to destroy your groove. Especially when you are an artsy-fartsy-smartsy moody sort to begin with. Even though I left behind all the stresses and exhaustion that were killing me, the one thing I couldn’t leave behind was my nature. I am lucky in that for the most part I bop along through life in a state of perpetual inquisitiveness and good natured bonhomie tinged with benign sarcasm. But, like the Force…I do have a dark side. It’s really only a danger to me though…I won’t be slaughtering any younglings.(unless they crack their gum) And as I have no desire to be defined by the less stellar characteristics of my persona…I do my utmost to ride out the mental shit-storms with a minimum of fuss. At home I had close friends and family that I could turn to for hugs, strong shoulders and snuggles when things got bad. But…what do you do when you are 173 million miles away from home and you need snuggles? This is a real problem people…one that I did NOT see coming. And I seriously doubt Conde` Nast or Budget Traveler have written any articles on this topic. “Cuddling Your Way Through the Schengen Zone”…or “25 Best Hostels for Finding a Snuggle Buddy”. I feel this is a vastly neglected aspect of solo traveling and should be addressed immediately. Someone contact Michael Palin. (I would absolutely snuggle with Michael Palin. He’s the cuddliest of all the Python’s in my opinion.)
My clothes are starting to look a bit shabby. I have two pairs of jeans. On one of them the zipper broke so I sewed myself into them. Luckily, like most jeans today, they have enough lycra in them that I can just pull them on and off without having to unzip them. The other pair has a giant hole in one knee and are not appropriate to wear to any place nicer than McDonalds…but I do anyway because sometimes I have no choice. My favorite sweater has holes in it. All of my socks have holes in them, and the zipper on one of my boots will only go halfway down, so I have to inch my foot in bit by bit, making sure as I tug I don’t pull the pleather away from the heel. (I am calling my new style “bourgeoisie hobo chic”. Pretty sure it will catch on.) This is what comes I suppose of having a very limited wardrobe…everything is getting worn out at a much quicker pace. And don’t even get me started on my bras. The poor things are just exhausted! They need to keep it together for me though.. and not give up. There are only so many places on a bra that you can use a safety pin without chancing an unexpected prick.
(There it is. You were wondering, weren’t you?)
Four months!! I still can’t believe it. When I started out, I had no idea how long I would be able to keep going. As of right now, it looks like I will still be abroad in the New Year. My daughter Hannah will be joining me in London for Christmas and New Years. I’m sure we will create quite a scene at Heathrow when we see each other. Neither of us are timorous about expressing ourselves.
Even though both my psyche and my wardrobe have experienced some wear and tear in the past four months, I wouldn’t change my decision to take this leap for all the new bras in the world. I’m still going strong. Although if you are an affectionate person and heading my way…pack a hug or two in your luggage for me. 😉