Ignoring The Voices
I left the United States over 3 weeks ago but only today have I realized that this isn’t a jaunty extended vacation I’m on but LIFE lived on the move, in unending receptivity just in a much wider arena than the one in which I normally operate—a life replete with some truly ecstatic moments, some downfalls (literally) and a really dark night of the soul which, at 4 a.m., with a hostel bedmate coughing sputum into air stiff and hot with Milan’s gritty humidity, had me questioning all I believed about who I was and what the fuck I was doing.
What this first introspection has called me to do is step back and assess the support I have received/am receiving and allow myself to voice and face my vulnerability and my fear about jumping and having to build my wings on the way
then summarily ignoring the voices that say I can’t.
Close your eyes and try to remember and embody how you felt as you learned to ride a bicycle. That giddy feeling of momentary balance. Intoxicated, the feeling of flying enwrapped you.
One split second of panic.
The hand behind your seat no longer visible.
The handlebars quiver and down you go.
Skinned palms, skinned ego.
That’s how I felt that 4 a.m. night. I leapt into this adventure in a cloud of seeming fearlessness and ended up in a seamy hostel full of hostility and fear. After a seamless leap into Scotland and England where the language was, ostensibly, the same, and the hospitality quite cushy, even, my arrival in a hot, sticky, dark and shuttered Milan started with a four hour flight delay (if Frontier and Spirit had a love child, it would be Ryan Air) dropping me to my hostel–after an expensive after-hours taxi–at 1:30 in the morning, revealed, at the front desk, five frantic Finnish girls absolutely covered in bedbug bites.
My pivot needed to be quick and not too costly. By 3:00 a.m, I was in a truly two-star hotel with exposed electrical wires and not a small gallery of graffiti on the metal shutters as you entered but, after another budget busting cab ride, it was my only option under 50 bucks (which is the top of my daily budget) and somewhat nearby. Three things it really had going for it…a fricking HOT shower, no bed bugs and included breakfast. However, I was going to have to find a way to pull my budget back in line but, in doing so, I was acting against my usual sense of abundance and in a bit of constriction and fear. The universe smiled and the law of attraction, as it truly operates for us, reflected that back to me. Yikes. I chose an underbudget hostel for the next two days.
The only thing the Hostel California had going for it….aside from the fact that you can both check out any time you like AND LEAVE, (though I DIDN’T) was the price. 90 degree days in Milan led to dank nights with almost no air circulation in the far corner of the 12 bed room, open windows letting in nothing but hungry mosquitoes, a queen size sheet to roll up in but no other bed cover and a truly inconsiderate group of roommates smoking, chatting, texting, packing, unpacking, flipping lights on until the weeeeeeeee hours of the morning. Dante Alighieri would certainly have assigned a spot for each of them in some ring of this Inferno.
Yes, I knew this night would pass but how many more ahead like this? Was I an intrepid explorer or a bougie butthole on a foreign frolick? What if I couldn’t last all 8 months? What if my patience or my money or my nerve ran out? Fortunately, most of my tribe was still awake back in the land of the free and home of the formerly brave me.
And, despite my rugged individualism and my tendency to just want to show the best side of this great fortune I have to travel our amazing planet, I reached out to them and exposed my flank and the results were nothing short of MIRACULOUS!!! More on that next post! Until then, here are some of my favorite shots of the first three days of my time in Scotland.