Yes

Dear fellow travelers,

This morning I stood on the balcony and watched the sunrise. The golden light had drawn me there.

The swallows were circling in the sky and seemed to be having a lot of fun. I stood there in my nightgown, watching them as the sun's rays kissed my skin.

In the past, I probably would have looked at my cell phone first. Today, I looked up at the sky first.

Sometimes it's the little things that make you realize something has changed.

Over the past few days, I've let go of many things. Old notions of what community should look like. Places that no longer feel right. The idea that I have to belong somewhere, even just a little bit.

When something has long since ended in our hearts, holding on often drains both sides of their energy. Sometimes, a clear decision is the most loving gift of all. Not because anything was wrong, but because something has come to a complete end.

As I was thinking about it, I realized that I hadn't eaten any gummy bears in a week.

That'sfunny. For months, they were my faithful companions. Not as candy, but as emergency rations. For long days. For tiring days. For landings.

The last time I went shopping, I even bought another bag—just in case. Somehow, it disappeared from my life before it even made it into my backpack.

I came home without any gummy bears. But with stories. With an idea for a trip. With encounters.

Maybe that was the real food.

A few days ago, I was sitting at my desk, stringing beads to make a necklace. I was thinking about Chile. About my roots. About all the threads that run through my life—threads I often don’t recognize until years later.

More and more, I get the feeling that I'm not making things up. Rather, I'm remembering them.

For example, the fact that I was already creating my own little worlds as a young woman. My first apartment had a gold-colored bathroom. A kitchen painted red. Colorful trees on yellow walls. Little round mirrors everywhere. A yellow parrot. And international couchsurfers constantly visiting.

At the time, I didn't think anything of it.

Today I think: Oh, I see. The Spaceship was already there. It just had a different name.

The older I get, the more I realize that my path has never been particularly straightforward. I wanted to be a designer. An artist. A DJ. A travel journalist. A dancer. Something that involved working with people. Something international.

Today I'm sitting here surrounded by beads, love letters, books, mountains, and decks of cards, and I find myself thinking:

Apparently, the answer was "yes" all along.

And then I dreamed of Mexico. I didn't know what I was supposed to do there. I just knew I had to go.

That probably describes my life better than any business plan. I rarely know exactly why. But I have a surprisingly good sense of where I'm headed.

And at some point—often years later—I come to understand the rest as well.

With love and an apricot in my mouth,
Jeannette