How do you know you know, like really know? The strongest senses of deep-gut knowing seem to come in fleeting sensations. A quick hit-and-run, so to speak. In that moment, truth seems so apparent, so bold and strong-willed. But in the next, we wonder whether it was even there at all. When I travel, my sense of knowing gets messy and unpredictable.
My journey home may have lasted a month, but every 3-5 days I was off to another place. In each, a part of me flourished, thrived on the environment in which I found myself surrounded. In those moments, I breathed in possibilities and in airy exclamation exhaled, “This is it.” Right here was my authenticity. My narrative. I, like a conquistador, would lay claim to this piece of worldly beauty. But the hum of a Boeing engine lulled me closer every single time. Jetsetting to my next punch-in-the-gut knowing.
And it was all genuinely truth. I could have lived and loved each one. I could have stayed for the home cooking. I could have stayed for the desert blooms under neon skies. I could have stayed for the sway and touch, the upturned corner of their lips, or the undiscovered realms of frontiers still untouched in their human existence. I could have stayed. I ached just as sorely to stay as I did to go. And that’s the truth, the great strip tease that is my life: I am in love with the possibilities of things still not mine. I crave the electric touch of ‘What If.’ I lust for the flirtation of stay, but my deep love has always been reserved for the world, and to the world I must go, every time.
A love that knows no bounds cannot be confined to borders or people. It flows over arbitrary lines, those that are imposed by the social construction of definitions as to where one thing ends and another begins. The universe and its energy are neither aware nor obedient to these boundary imposters. Thus, stories also remain fluid. Where my story started was another’s milestone and where stories can go, so too can love. It can be found surging, pulsing, running over, through, merging, winding, intersecting, detouring, and reinventing.
One great affirmation to bring solace into my hectic life has been to reject my search for love in the world and instead give my love to the world. In doing so, I find that love returns to me in unexpected ways: simply, beautifully, and honestly. The strip tease of the world, unveiling herself a bit at a time. She knows full well her charm, her power over others, and her ability to alter the perception of time. Underneath it all, there’s a delicate balance of confidence and vulnerability, and in that dance, engagement happens. Souls are connected.
The world is my private dancer, luring me in to unveil her vulnerabilities in an attempt to connect and engage with even the most hostile of audiences. I can’t stay. I’ll miss the show, the erotic seduction of life. I am a captive to the possibility of living that I will venture great lengths to see that sheer chance encounter, if even for a mere few minutes. For the rapid ‘This is it’ knowing that makes me fall madly, wildly in love with something never quite attainable but has had mankind tripping over themselves since the beginning of the human narrative. But love given always finds a way to return to the giver: In the dance, the music, the flirtation, the adrenaline, the weathered walls masked by dim lighting, the excitement buzzing in the air. The root of it all contains the veins of love. And where those veins reach, I will go.