Wednesday, October 30, 2013 Leave a Comment
I did a very stupid thing.
Right before leaving for four months of traveling, like an idiot I went and fell in love.
It was the last thing I expected to happen. My mind was focused completely on preparing for my travels, playing shows, and writing songs…until I grabbed one drink with her. Love never seems to care how shitty the timing is. It enters the scene with little regard or respect for circumstance or convenience.
The 6 weeks I had with her before I left were magic. Though my instinct, fueled by past wounds, was to fight the feeling for fear of this precise situation, I invited her in. I stifled the persistent, sometimes audible “What the hell are you thinking?” reflex and welcomed the wonderful and intoxicating irrationality of love.
4 weeks into my journey, I find myself looking out at the Mediterranean and thinking about her back in the US. I miss her, and in a variety of ways it’s made traveling harder. Differing time zones and sporadic internet accessibility have laid siege to regular communication. Going out exploring, whether walking down a narrow Italian street, watching the sunset from high up on a Greek isle, or taking in the night life of a brisk Turkish evening, I wish I could turn to her right there and say “Wow, isn’t this incredible?”.
But she smiles when she gets my post cards. I curl up with an e-mail from her at the end of a long day. Perhaps predictably, the songs are flowing. And the last destination on my itinerary, home, is now even more exciting. Even thousands of miles from her, she makes me happy.
To be sure, I did a very stupid thing falling in love.
But stupider still would have been passing it up.