It’s been a crazy past two weeks to say the least.
Never could I have imagined myself to be where I am right now, mentally, physically, and emotionally. People ask me if I’m excited, if I’m stoked. And to be honest, I’m a little scared.
See, I’ve always thought I’ve been a person of change. That I had some innate ability to adjust quickly, to accept whatever the current circumstances were and to make the best of it. But those changes have always been temporary. The repercussions from these spontaneous, short-lived changes were always minimal. The potential emotional distress that followed from events such as traveling to Nicaragua alone and camping overnight outside a Hilton Hotel were easily blurred away by adrenaline. More importantly, there was always a safety net in the comfort of home and knowing that it would always be there to catch me when I returned.
Home, I think represents a multitude of things. It represents where you are physically, where your circle of friends are, and where you find stability. For me, home for the past 22 years has been in the heart of Orange County. I’ve known no different. I’ve had only a taste of life outside of this bubble and a taste of discomfort through my travels. I’ve had opportunities to broaden my horizon just a little more and to shed my sunny 75, beach-ready, mid-high class, So-Cal naivety. But now, home changes, and it’s a bit uncomfortable.
For the past couple days since my move up to Northern California, I’ve been pushing away any mental efforts to answer the questions of why I’m scared and why I’m uncomfortable. But I’m forcing myself now to think. And I think it just comes down to this concept of replacement.
Think for a second, on when you lost something. Whether it’s an object, a person, or a goal, we’ve all felt the pain and discouragement thats affiliated with something we lose. Often times, we ease the agony by finding a suitable replacement to fill in the hole that had been left behind. But in that search for replacement, we are separated from a level of stability and comfort that we once knew. We feel the most pain in those moments. For some circumstances, the search is short. We go to Best Buy and replace a lost iPhone 5 with a iPhone 5S. For others, we lose a partner. And the search and time it takes to replace that crevice, takes time.
For me, I’ve lost a home. Yes, I’ll still come back to visit, I’ll keep in touch with close friends, and I’ll never forget the memories forged from adventures that only Southern Cali could provide. But I’m not there anymore. I’m on a new path now to discover, dream, and explore this new home that I’ve thrown myself in.
It’ll take time, it’ll take courage. But damn, if there was ever a time for adventure, that time is now.
So here goes nothing.
Cheers,
AL
Stories of Albert 