I suppose it's Day 30+ now for backpacking, and 5+ months for the total time here thus far.
Hah, I lost track. And I'm sick of counting. I sort of "finished" out the last of my backpacking trip in Italy in the last week, and took a train back to Germany to be stationary again for awhile.
Diez has definitely become a second home to me, or rather, my home away from home. The community, the people, the language, even. I find myself dreaming in German, constantly thinking in German, and when I am alone I do things like say "ja, das ist gut" to myself, or "ich denke auch", even though I'm not talking to anyone. It's like a constant recital that I'm ready to perform at any given moment. And speaking of... in my backpacking travels, when I arrived in different countries such as Poland, Croatia, Hungary, Slovenia, etc... I noticed that you could usually find a handful of young adults who spoke English, but as for the restaurants, shops, and adults I met in between, most didn't. They either spoke their native language or.... yes, you guessed it... Deutsch! Ah, who'd have thought (well, actually, makes sense)... but how convenient that I was able to still communicate by speaking German in all these other countries as an American traveller? I just found that so cool. Languages rock my world. Cultures rock my world, too! Man, I love travelling. Being on the open road (or valley, main square, field, ) is a BE-YOU-TI-FUL thing!!! love it, love it, love it.
I also love that I'm not hauling around a 35lb death sentence anymore... Or rather, it was a life sentence, as it kicked my ass and forced me to be a bit healthier! It was a love/hate reltionship with my hiking bag. It felt right when I slipped it on every morning. It felt absolutely right, like it was meant to feel exactly this way. But, then again, at the end of every evening when I dropped to my knees and let loose my aching shoulders, that, also, felt right. It's something I cannot really explain- and perhaps my love affair with my hiking bag is something you are either extremely creeped out about or have no interest in.
Either way, I certainly consider myself leaning towards a professional hill/stair climber now, although I may still be in the pre-levels of training compared to those normal woodsy people who just seem to bounce up mountainsides like they're weightless stick figures being carried by the waves of the wind. I don't get how those people do it. Yes, backpacking is HARD...for me, at least. I'm out of shape, though, so you have to give me some credit for spending a month entirely on my feet with heavy bag stuffed full of clothes and well-intentioned camping gear that wasn't used enough, and who knows what else. *sigh and stretches*...eeeh. Can't complain. S' done me real good, tho. ;) I have learned so much from this. SO much!!
Whether it was just a physical challenge, or the fact that it pushed me to be more, I am not sure. Both, I think. Also, it opened up my eyes to being forced to learn how to adapt and adjust... hopping on and off of trains and in and out of several different countries with several different curriences, languages, people, and cultures...all the while travelling by foot and alone in each destination, not sure where I am going or what I am doing day to day. It made for a great journal, and I plan to humor myself in my return to the states with attempting to slide these documentations in between the pages of a hardback, perhaps. We'll see. I doubt I'll have time on my hands, as when I return to the states, I'll be needing a full-time job to pay off the euros I've shed, both in sweat and survival, and will have to pump out one last year of university. Hmm. The days to come are ones I am not quite ready to think about.
6 months of liberation. 6 months of freedom. As of today, it's been actually about 5 months and 21 days.... but in 3 days I'll have reached 6 months. :) wow! Half of a freaking year! It's just crazy to think about.
To me, there is a timeline with these things, and certainly, after 3-4 months, you start feeling like you sort of could belong and are no longer just a "tourist" - which is how you are usually viewed for the first day-3 months. But once you hit 4 and perhaps spill over towards 5+, I think it becomes a serious thought. A serious time. A serious adjustment. And at 6, I definitely feel as though I have, how do you say, "made the shift." I no longer live day to day in an English speaking country with my native family and friends, nor do I live in my own country. I live in Europe now. I live by the seat of my pants. I live day to day. I live with no timeline. I live breathing in whatever comes my way, and in an entirely different realm than home. And here, I am happy. This is where I belong, in the moment, in the now. Everything is clear here. Everything. And in the states, I never, ever feel that way. For a number of reasons, I am sure.
"Home". I throw that word around too much. What is home for me? I don't know. For the past 6 months, home has been Diez, Vienna, several different countries, and most importantly, my hiking bag. My bag contains my entire life here, outside of my body and soul. My entire life for the past half of a year is the weight I bear on my shoulders every day, all day, and it is not only symbolic, but metaphoric as well. It certainly represents that I am presently aware of what I have here, of what I hold here, and the meaning it has for me. It simply cannot be expressed correctly in words.
I have so much more I want to say, but suddenly I feel as though this is enough for now. I am afraid that once I tip the ink jar over too far, the ink will come spilling out onto the paper and will spread and seep and soak up the empty air in front of me...and I need time. I need to stop for now.
This is one of those moments where I really believe in myself.
I left the USA, and in doing so, I approached the plane, peeled off my old skin, stepped out of it, and walked onto the plane, gasping for "air". I LEFT "me" behind in search of the real soul inside that has been longing to escape for the past 10+ years. Especially the last 4 years,which is how long it's taken me to come back here. And in reaching my destination, I stepped off the plane and INHALED. Ah. I am alive. THIS, whatever it is I am made of right now, is exactly what I am supposed to be. How to explain that to everyone back in the states who knows me as the skin I left behind... I just don't know. But it has to be made known that I don't know that person anymore. It was who I was but never wanted to be, and I need everyone reading this to remember that. I can only be who I want to be. Not who you need me to be. And I never, ever again want to be who everyone else wants me to be. Because then it's not ME. it's YOU, stepping into ME. and I am ME. YOU are YOU. And that is simply how it will always be.
Oh, there is just so much to say. Perhaps it will never be enough.
