Learning How to Land

In November 2016, I got a call from Kirsten, my adventurous college friend. “Hey girl, I’m backpacking through South America in January. Wanna come?” 

She’d laid out a dream itinerary full of nature, cities, art and culture. Opportunities like that don’t come along often. I jumped on it.

We spent three weeks hopping from hostel to hostel feeding llamas, eating ceviche, and riding bikes down dusty dirt roads.

And on my flight home, listening to Bachan Kaur's soothing chants, I cried my heart out.

Adventure can distract you for so long. At some point, usually when your body is exhausted, you have to stop and feel.

Four weeks earlier, he’d come over. The man my heart had gotten tangled around in some pretty uncomfortable ways.

At the time, I would’ve told you I was deeply in love. Today, I tell you I was also deeply attached.

I left for South America freshly fueled with hope for what we’d become. On our last night in Peru, he sent me, “I thought we were friends?”

I read a study once about the behavior of mice. When food is present in their cage, they don't care about it much. But when the food is taken and presented inconsistently, they start to pay attention, devouring it upon arrival. Who knows when it will be back.

My life had become one, big waiting for the cheese, and I’d found some pretty elaborate ways to distract myself until its return.

Attachment. Why do we cling to things we know aren’t good for us?

A therapist might tell you it's your childhood. An astrologer? Your soul’s karma. Science? We do it for the dopamine.

Maybe the better question is: How do we stop?

Adrenaline is exciting for a while. On our first date, when I couldn't decide which dessert I wanted, he ordered them all. He was extravagant like that. Knew how to sweep me off my feet.

But what about having somewhere to land?

I look back on my life and see a girl in constant motion.

There is beauty in her.

Her energy. Her optimism. Her heart.

But I'm finding beauty now in someone we don't talk too much about.

The quiet woman. Working slowly in her dark, dark cave.

Tending to rattled nerves. Feet on solid ground.

Doing the hard and essential work of mending a life.

Teaching the girl how to land.