You get to the edge of who you are and there’s no going back you have to cross.
Cross with care or cross with abandon.
My experiences shape who I am, and recent experiences, the ones I write about, have certainly taken me beyond what I had imagined was me and what I would have regarded as my limits. I have crossed edges, boundaries, and borders.
I could label my experiences as personal development but that makes travelling my course sound self directed. I’ve wandered without a destination in mind, and although I would like to boast otherwise, I must quietly admit that I’ve presented my id or passport, with trepidation more often than boldly.
It’s also true that I could never quite have cracked up and quit, not even when I sat listening to the fridge. I did what I was able to and gently pushed at the edges, redefining me as I went. It’s ongoing work.
Somewhat paradoxically, there is less control and more abandon in who I am now. I’m not without fear, any solo traveller will appreciate there are inevitable moments of self doubt and cross and I grow.
I live a beautiful life, I know that when I can smile to myself on a morning tram packed with commuters, and I swear not much smiling happens on those journeys. Then there’s the almost boundless joy of taking a deep breath of dog, or those moments when I clumsily hug someone who’s not expecting to be hugged, I make it all up as I go along.
I don’t know how it all happened, how I got to where I am. I am thankful to have crossed me and kept on growing. I lost Mottsu and I managed to find the best of me.
I don’t know how that happened.