It feels familiar, almost homey to be in an apartment I’ve never spent the night at, in a city I’ve only been once before — over a decade prior.
The other day I reflected to my mom that it felt as if I had just woken up from a dreamy fog and was trying to piece together how I had gotten “here.” At that point, it was how had I gotten to where I had called off my engagement and was heading to Puerto Rico for a month. (I refused to be one more millennial in her parent’s basement so packed my bags and remote-based job for a city that knows a thing or two about restoration.)
I had known I was making the right choice to leave (both the relationship and the pillowy comfort of family) but I wasn’t really sure what I was seeking. Sitting in lovely San Juan, I still struggle to find the right word to categorize my time here — it’s not really a vacation, maybe a retreat, a pause, a reset? A friend of mine told me to enjoy my discernment and perhaps that gets close. Surely, the purpose of this journey will reveal itself by the time I head home in a month. Until then, I am trading my typically anxious anticipation for pensive patience. Let’s see how it goes.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. — Lao Tzu