Yep. Life, you have a pretty fucked up sense of humor you know that? 6:21 AM. In the hammock. The mosquitoes are circling. Everything is basically the same as it always is when I'm up at this hour, except me. My mind is both quiet, and searching. Plans have changed. London isn't happening any more. Despite the abundance of real love for one another, there's no solution either of us can come to to make it have a chance. Not now. Timing won this time. Fuck you reality. My heart's a bit broken, and this is definitely going to be a boomerang - right now it's out there somewhere. We just threw it. I understand it in my head, but it hasn't come back yet to be caught and held. The reality of it. When it does, I'm sure it'll hurt. All part of it. Still worth it. Wouldn't change getting close to her for anything. Going to miss her. A lot.
So what then? Jan. 17th I get on a plane to New York City. My friend Elana is picking me up at the airport and I'll spend a night with her and her family on Long Island. That will be nice. She's a wonderful girl and her family rocks. Then it's a blank canvass for me. I won't stay in New York. I have some money in the bank, and I told myself I wanted to be out there, doing this. I'll continue. I'm thinking I'll head to Los Angeles to be with my family and Mike for a bit, maybe pitstop in North Carolina and Arkansas along the way to see friends, then connect with my godfather, who runs the Mexico Marine Program for the World Wildlife Fund. He's based down in La Paz. Maybe spend a few months with him, learning what his job is all about, then head out on my own again, down into South America, or maybe Southeast Asia. Africa. Fuck. I don't know. Find something online that interests me and allows me to continue to grow in this kind of work. Location isn't a big factor, unless I choose to start my own mini-project building biosand filters. If I do that, it'll be in Latin America. I need to be able to communicate.
Yea. These six months have been every bit as big and beautiful and challenging as I'd hoped they'd be. They've changed who I am. I spoke to my brother a few weeks ago - the person who knows me better than anyone in the world - and in the middle of what felt to me like a regular conversation he stopped. "Damn Quinn." "What?" "You've grown up."
That's step one. Step two: do something with it.