Wanderlust

Spent a few days in Georgia with friends, dropping one of them off to hike the Appalachian Trail. He started at Amicalola Falls and will end it in Maine in about six months (if it all goes well and he's able to complete it).

The trip to Amicalola Falls, the nine hour ride there and back gave me plenty of time to think about things, including the fact that I'm due to move to California at the end of the month. I haven't even started packing yet, somehow knowing in the back of my mind that there would be a complication, and there was. The friend that was supposed to be my roommate has opted to stay where she is, because her current roommate can't find a place she can afford alone and we haven't been able to find a place that meets all of our needs. I found this out while in the middle of the woods, listening to a friend talk about the fact that for the next six months all that he had to do was wake up and walk.

There is a part of me that wants to seize this opportunity and call it a sign that I wasn't meant to move west, that I should go to Europe instead, like I've wanted to all along. The wanderlust in me feels that moment of disconnect and wants to use it as the chance to travel, the excuse for a moveable feast.

I sat last night at a bar in New Orleans, meeting up with friends after I'd dropped my bags at home and gone to get food. I sat next to Elly, who's supposed to ride with me west, talking wildly about how I'd rather be going to Amsterdam and she humored me, telling me she'd make that trip with me instead. For a moment I let myself believe that was what would happen and in that moment I was happy.