Leaving a beautiful city with no more than I came with (minus what I learned)
It’s been a good run up here in Seattle. I think I ate more Pho and fried chicken than I have in all of my life. I explored Chinatown to the point of familiarity, ate amazing Dim Sum (not to mention Shanghai Dumplings) and stopped to take a picture on just about every street corner I damn well pleased. I moved in with two craigslist roommates who took no time to just became regular friends. Then, in a crazy sequence of good fortune, all our friends became friends. And we spent many nights happily lounging around the dinner table, just shooting the breeze, with no regard for the time or anything else, besides the argument at hand.
I racked up miles on my bike; the kind of wear that shows up in the rusty peeling metal frame that looks like it’s begging for retirement, but I just can’t let it go.
Mountains paint three sides of the city and on a clear day, if you’re lucky enough to find yourself in the open air facing south, you can catch the mountain, eye to eye, the same way you see it every time you tip back a can of Rainier. The city is cut with enormous man made hills and it’s a challenge to bike up it, so much so that plenty of bikers may never have found their passion if they’d taken mom’s advice and ridden the bus.
I’ve found that the moments when I’m at an unstable 25 mph cruising down Pine Street, terrified that a single crack might be the end of me, are the moments that I feel the most alive. And that’s enough to do it again and again and again.
A year ago almost exactly to this day, I moved to Seattle and convinced myself that with experience on my resume and money in my pocket, I’d graduate to a series of world travels. I’ve been patient and exact, waiting for the right moment to make that leap. I always thought I’d get to that point and it’d be easy to tell when I got there. But it isn’t.
It’s fucking terrifying to decide that you’re ready to move on. To just go. There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with that thought, and there’s the constant nagging doubt of, “Is it too early?” It’s a best judgement call, impossible to tell if I’ll regret it big time in 15 years, which a neighbor of mine told me I might.
“I’m scared of failing too, but I’m not scared of trying, which means I face my fears if I ever get to them. And don’t let mothafuckas put a label on you.”
— Tyler the Creator
I’ve learned that living your life through the standards or expectations of others is most certainly the wrong way to go. And it’s easy enough to do what’s expected of you and keep your head down and not make a fuss. It’s a lot easier to go with the flow of your life, then to stop and take a minute to think about it and make the decision to choose something different.
I don’t know where I’m going to land, but I have pretty much ensured that I’ll make that call. That means choosing the city I live in, the work that I end up doing and for me what’s more important than either — the friends and family that I’ve got around me.
In the meantime, I’m taking a few months to explore and gather my thoughts. I’ve got a one way ticket to Bangkok and the desire to see a whole lot of things I’ve never before seen, including lots of Southeast Asia. I’ll pack a camera for proof of the journey and if I can, I’ll figure out another way to share my progress, both in terms of spiritual enlightenment and physical travel, in a way that doesn’t involve jamming your feed with tropical drinks enjoyed on the beach, though I plan to have a few.
There are a lot of unknowns and things up in the air and shit I just haven’t figured out. What I mean is, I’m confused, scared and forever asking questions. But over everything, I’m excited.
Always take the jump,
Michael
