Blessed

Left: Saying goodbye at the airport

Last night at 10:45, after I’d turned out the lights and closed my eyes, it hit me: these last three months have been incredible!

Since late September I’ve seen a good friend get married, ridden a train most of the way across the U.S., packed up my former life in tubs and boxes, and set out for a new life across the equator. I’ve done T’ai Chi on the beach and with my grandmother, heard my parents say they’re proud of me, and had conversations with my siblings and friends that I’ll think back on for years to come. And yet, how many hours have I spent during these months feeling consumed by the demands of the present and worrying about the future? How can I have been so blessed, yet so slow to perceive it?

Yesterday I wore the T-shirt my sister Laura made for me to wear to the U2 concert we went to as a family in October. Before I dropped off to sleep I put on my headphones and listened to the song whose lyrics she iron-transferred onto the back:

“You’re packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been—
a place that has to be believed to be seen…”

It was a good day.