Being Lost, Keeping Love

I find myself thinking of a lot of firsts in recent days: The first time my parents trusted me enough to be home alone, my first airplane ride, my first bathing suit, the first and only time I ate french fries with ketchup, but none of my firsts take up more of my thought then the first time I was "lost" or "unlocatable."

I remember it clearly, the first time in my life that if someone wanted to be able to find me, it would take them several hours, maybe even days. I had lived on my own for a few months and I went for a walk, didn't tell anyone where I was going, left my cell phone at home so no one could contact me and it was possibly one of the most wonderful things I have ever experienced in my entire life. It was so freeing, so honest, it was just me and the world, no one else. I found myself traveling to places that I had often thought of going to, long winding streets, odd stores, but just never could find the time, and loving just simply existing in that very moment. It was bliss.

I find myself, as one could imagine, doing a lot of new firsts here in a new town during what must be the "next chapter" of my life, but at the same time, I keep breaking down in shock and sorrow. I find myself doing things that remind me of home: I watch a lot of movies, spend a lot of time on the Internet, walk around stores even though I don't need anything...

And yet, at the exact same time, I'm forcing myself, no, forcing is too strong of a word, I'm allowing myself to let go: I hardly ever wear my watch, I spend so much time reading now, I clean things daily, I can't stand to see a dirty dish anywhere in this apartment (eeekkk!!!)

It's things like these that make me wonder if I am being myself. I look in the mirror often to verify, I reach out and touch things, I go outside and stand on the balcony and say to myself, "Yes, indeed, this isn't Kansas anymore," I go find the few things I brought with me from home and hold on to them for a few minutes. The one item that I am finding myself looking at the most often is oddly enough something I packed by accident. It's a note written by a dear friend, and it was given to me on my birthday several years ago. It's a card and inside is note written on half a sheet of a notebook paper, folded to which is says, among other things, "Just remember it's OK not to know where you're going. You'll get there."

So basically, in mind, my dear friend has given me his expressed permission to get lost as much as I want and that it's okay. Every time I read this note I tear up a little, how could I not? There are so many people who travel through life never knowing what love is, not in any way, not even loving themselves, and here is a person, a dear friend, left from a relationship of not so long ago who loved me so much, even then, when he knew less about me to say that it was OK, that I was OK, that my life is OK.

Yes, it's true, I don't need any one's permission to do anything with my life, but to know that even those who love me will always love me, no matter where I am or how lost I get, is definitely something I hold on to and even though from time to time in life I'm going to be lost, there are definitely things I can pack with me, even when I can't take suitcases, one of which is going to be that love, it's going to go with me every where I go. I hope that it never gets lost and that my love, in return, will never get lost.