We’re Gonna Fucking Do This, Too

One would think, especially knowing me, that this cross-country road trip was just another impulsive idea. One that would hold no weight. One that I won’t see through.

Shockingly, of all the second-guessing that’s come since I decided to take this trip, reneging on doing it at all, has not been one of them.

Of course, the constant “Are you fucking stupid?!” soundtrack plays pretty steadily in the back of my mind.

This trip, at its core, is about trust.

And do I really trust me?

Trust that I can drive 9, sometimes 10-hour stretches, alone, without falling asleep??

Trust that I won’t overspend my week’s groceries on knick-knacks at the first cool thrift store I find???

Trust that these markets, that I have NEVER vended at before, will earn me enough to literally stay alive until I make it back home????

(Are you fucking stupid?!)

Throughout my preparations, I’ve had to examine, re-examine, (are you fuc-) —

Cut the noise.

And really consider: what is this doing for me?

I feel enough to know it will lead to personal growth. But how?

I haven’t had a solid inkling... until today.

Trust, Yoga, and a Little Girl Who Dreamed of Escape

In my effort to quiet the noise and get my mind and body ready for van life, I hit a yoga class.

I always love the cool down because my brain goes quiet fast.

Today, as I cooled down (points for not vomiting), I silently prayed “Thank you. Thank you for this life.”

I feel so privileged to even be able to take this time out for me. So deeply thankful it’s on the heels of getting my second baby off to college, of having such a beautiful home to come back to.

And instantly—I was 11 again.

I saw her clear as day, as though I was looking through the windows of our old dining room.

Lil Jae had just gotten back from school and was alone in the home. Wearing a blue shirt, jeans, her curly hair outrageous, in a ponytail. Our older sister is off at college. My mother and stepfather are at work.

I throw my backpack on the ground and chew my cuticle as I wait for my dad’s daily phone call from the States. The highlight of my day. My connection out of this hellhole.

I pick up on the first ring, “Hola, mi samba linda!”

And I light up, briefly.

The call ends way too soon. I wish we could talk until bedtime.

But now, I’m alone again.

I look around.

I wish I could leave.

I wish I could run away.

I wish I spoke the language.

I wish I could meet a Good Samaritan who would fly me back to the States, to people who loved me.

I feel trapped. I am trapped.

The sun’s beginning to set. Anxiety starts to set in my belly. If I’m not ignored tonight, I’ll be yelled at for something or another.

I glance up the stairs. Another night of hiding out in my room. Nothing to look forward to.

Will life always feel like this?

Look at Us Now

I cry. (Silently, of course, cuz I have to see these people again.)

I wish I could hug that kid.

I send lil Jae the deepest, warmest hug and so much love.

And I like to think, maybe, it’s that love that kept her alive. Kept her going. Kept her hopeful.

Especially when she didn’t have it elsewhere.

Look at us now, I think.

We went from praying for escape… to giving thanks we can do so FOR FUN. We have babies.

Friends.

Family.

Even still, our dad.

People who love us.

We thrive.

Despite everything designed to break us.

Despite heartache.

Despite abuse.

Despite unemployment.

(Despite yoga.)

I namaste, wipe my tears, and walk to my car.

I didn’t realize it until today, but in addition to freedom, a blessing, an adventure… this trip is a gift.

A gift to younger me.

To the girl who holed up in her room at night, longing for freedom, adventure, love.

To the lil Jae who would cry her heart out if she knew just how beautiful, brilliant, and HAPPY her children are. (Wild that only a few years after that moment, she’d meet her first.)

She’d burst knowing that not only are we a great momma, but that our kids never felt what she felt that day, in that quiet, cold home.

They have warmth.

They have safety.

They have us.

We did it, kid.

And we’re gonna fucking do this, too.