10 Days - Part 21 and nearing the end...
Tuesday, October 14, 2008

When I woke up, the plane was hitting the runway at JFK, and I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been happier to land in New York. I had 15 welcome home messages on my voicemail and I needed it. I went through customs, feeling like I’d been gone for 10 months rather than 10 days. I settled into the back of a cab, like it was a stretch limo knowing that although I hadn’t figured out how yet, I was a little wiser.

I took a deep breath and called my parents first.

“Hi Mom. I’m home.” I said, exhausted and not really wanting to have this conversation.

“Hiiiiiiii Honey!!! How WAS it??” asked my mother, who had chosen not to share my adventure with anyone else in our close knit family to protect me from having to explain should this not turn out the way I had hoped. And it hadn’t. It most certainly had not turned out the way I had hoped. But in that moment, I realized part of the reason I was scared to take the risk to begin with. I’d grown up thinking that if things didn’t turn out with a success or a happy ending, then the risk hadn’t been worth it. Which naturally makes a girl stop taking risks for fear of having unwanted news at the end of the adventure. I found myself thinking about all of this as my Mom called to my Father. Was the risk only worthwhile if the outcome was as expected? Didn’t you have to take the risk in order to find out what the outcome would be? And wasn’t there a reason for the expression, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”?

“Billy, pick up the phone! It’s Michelle!!!!”

“Well, it was an adventure. I wouldn’t say we are a match made in heaven.”

“I knew it. I knew it. Bill, didn’t I say I didn’t like the sound of her email?? I knew it. Are you ok? What did you do? Was it miserable?”

I waited for my mother to finish her questions, although I was really too exhausted to give much of an answer. Too exhausted to explain to her that it was miserable at times and wonderful at times. Too exhausted to even be able to begin to process what I had just done.

“I’m exhausted, but I’m good. I’m glad to be home. But I can’t expand on this right now…I’m just too tired. Can we talk again tomorrow?”

“Of course. Of course. We’re just glad you’re home safely. We love you.” Which was a nice thing to hear. Especially since, at the end of the day, I knew that while my mother would have hoped for me to have my fairy tale ending, she and my father both loved me no matter what.

Next, I called one of my oldest friends, Kelly. Kelly and I had been friends since we were 3. She knew pretty much everything about me. If there was anyone I could be with who would understand me, it was Kelly. I left her a voice mail telling her I was back, asking if she wanted to go to 4 PM yoga and eat some REAL spaghetti with me. I left a few more messages for my closest friends telling them I was home and alive and too exhausted to talk. And oh yeah, I was NOT madly in love.

As I walked through the streets of New York on my way to yoga, I was struck by the joy I felt about things that would have normally bothered me. It was a grey-ish, cold, sort of drab day. A nice change of pace from the pounding sun. There were impatient people everywhere, taxis honking too long and too loud. Several people ran into me on the sidewalk. But I’ve never been happier to be in the concrete jungle in my life. I was ecstatic to be home, to feel the pulse of the city. I was not so ecstatic about having to face the world and tell them that my fairytale hadn’t come true. Still, when I saw Kelly at yoga, I felt a surge of relief. She was just happy to see me, happy to practice yoga next to me. But most importantly, she told me she was proud of me for making the trip.

As I inhaled and exhaled through my sun salutations, I inhaled and exhaled those words. I was proud of me too. I had taken the biggest risk I had ever taken in my life. And no, it hadn’t turned out the way had I wanted, the way I had planned - but I was OK. I was still standing. No one was laughing at me or telling me I was foolish to have tried. (Then again, I hadn’t really talked to a whole lot of people yet.) The risk had been worth it. I had been on an amazing adventure half way around the world.

I poured over every last detail of my trip over a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of red wine. As I described my adventures to Kelly and my interactions with Burma Boy, she helped me to work through all the feelings I was having. She reminded me that I have a tendency to beat myself up for certain things, and she made me feel phenomenally better by telling me that she thought I handled myself better than most would have under the circumstances. I don’t know if it was the yoga, the spaghetti, the glass of wine, or having one of my oldest friends to talk to, but I already felt slightly rejuvenated.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:46 PM  

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1 comments:

megabrooke said... October 14, 2008 at 5:35 PM  

aw, there's something about seeing an old friend that just makes things better. and talking to your mom.

how did you leave it off at the airport with burma boy? did he drop you at your apartment? did you make plans to chat again?

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