find the right ship, numbskull.

11 January 2012 § Leave a comment

Right now I’m signing up on, which is apparently a search base for sailing and other types of vessels to, guess what, find a crew. I am at the whim of the waves and wind as to direction right now – one day I thought I would be cityhopping again, in countries I now have a vague want to go to – to improve my Spanish, to pass through dingy passport stations opposite rickty bridges in the midst of muddy rivers and civilizationdooming banana plantations. I don’t know where I’m going. Here, in Bocas del Toro, is a reunion of a couchsurfing meetup somewhere in the Yukon near Whitehorse, some six months and __ lifetimes ago. Heather is here, and three days after meeting her again I’m still wondering about why it felt no natural as soon as I soon her, that she’d been here the whole time, that four months just disappeared but in which we transformed and thought ourselves into new existences and it was double the time that I’d known her that I didn’t see her, and how organic was our melding into the home of Ian Usher, the man who sold his life on ebay, and his family of the Canadian dog musher Moe, and her two wonderful kids to think that the last howevermanythousandmiles just didn’t happen, but then what new stories would we have to share? Everything we know about one another is from our travelstories, of our musing over Ian’s fifteen minutes of fame (which he tolerates and jokes about in his britishhumble manner), of further adventures, whether they be over land or sea now, and what will come of 2012 before I’m off to Alaska to fish again?

Since the beginning of this year, my mind has been in a quiet recovery from all the writing and supposed ‘rest’ I had in San Jose before I left. I’m a blank slate for ideas, past the Missing and the Want for the familiar, for my friends, for ‘home,’ and for the Pull to Travel. I want to keep going, and will, but for now do so more because I said I wanted to so many months ago rather than because I want to now. I want to find something worth holding onto. Perhaps I already have, and can’t or won’t admit it yet. But the search is the journey, which is far more fun – even in this state of limbo – than enduring the Alaskan winter, a regular job, another semester of introverted silence and wondering what I’d be doing out here. Here, where I am. What am I waiting for?

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