I, __________, am a twentysomething and I am exploring.
Or I’m lost?
I’m not sure which one.
I brought supplies. I prepared. I thought I knew the way, but I think I took a left when maybe it was supposed to be a right?
Or a left, then a right, then a left? Or right, right, left…oh I dunno.
Nothing looks familiar. The birds circling above me seem to be growing in numbers. And I’m scared, to be honest. Actually, I think FREAKED OUT would be more accurate.
I don’t have a map, my mom, Pocahontas, or a furry little animal to show me the way back home.
But wait, where’s home? What’s home?
That’s why I went exploring in the first place — to find that place where I could unpack my clothes and start my life. How can I go back to something that I set out to discover? How can I go back to something that no longer exists?
Home is the new world. I will find it or die trying.
OK, not really die trying. That sounded dramatic so I wrote it.
No, really, I was dying waiting.
I was dying when my nights were spent exploring Netflix hoping to discover some B movie to forget about my D + life.
Sure I’m scared now. More than ever. But I’m also alive now too. I have a certain focus. A certain kind of adrenaline and drive fueling me, compelling me to keep going.
Yeah, I’m lost. But that was the point. Being lost might be the exact spot that I will be found.
You have to get lost to explore.
Explorers get lost on purpose, with purpose. Explorers only find something greater if they first lose site of the familiar.
I will not wait here. I will not hesitate. When morning comes I will move forward. All explorers have to get lost. That’s when they make their biggest discoveries.
I, __________, am a twentysomething and I am an explorer.
Is there anyone out here exploring too?