Free falling

I've been here before.

I'm used to picking up and leaving.  Establishing myself in a foreign place.  Planting roots.  Being the freshman in college that signs up for everything and then goes a bit manic for the first few weeks.  I'm always that freshman in college.

The "big city" doesn't really scare me.  I know how to decipher a metro map better than most people can fry an egg.  Wear pleather flats in the summer because it rains a lot but it's balmy outside.  Dress in layers that you can easily shed and flip on.  Always have a book when commuting.

Being here is a different experience for me than it is for most other people that "do the New York thing," as one attorney told me the other day.  I didn't come here out of exhilaration and excitement of living in one of the most-populated cities on the planet.  I wasn't entranced with the bright lights, constant noise of honking cars that you can't quite place, or the fact that you truly can get whatever you want at whatever time of the day and night.  I'm not an artist of some sort trying to burst out of my small town and become famous enough to have my name in those bright lights.  I'm not business-minded enough to come just to make money and wear neutral-colored suits every day while never speaking to a soul unless he or she is also wearing similar garb.

Everyone seems to come here for something.  I came here for something, too...I won't deny that.  I came for a home, for a place to not move from for a few years, to understand that I really could do something completely on my own, to ignore whatever advice I was given that most certainly must follow societal rules and regulations.  Most people don't come for a place to call home, they come for something big.

Maybe that's why I feel like I'm free falling my way through all of this.  I spent over a month with myself only to end up in a city that isn't really "home" to many people.  It's my home.  Almost. I still don't have my own room and I've made great buddies with Eleni's couch and bed but that'll change this week...

I haven't been overwhelmed with the city itself, I've been overwhelmed with my life.  So, while living here just makes me feel as if I live in Madrid again, I'm obviously waiting to plant my feet.  Maybe a better description would be that I have one foot on the beam but I'm wobbling so the other foot is kind of wiggling off to the side and I'm using it to balance myself.

One thing that has really been making me think lately is everyone I have met in my travels.  I've traveled a lot and usually it's pretty simple for me to meet people.  One awkward, older man told me it was because I'm "hot" and my sweet-as-molasses girl friend told me she couldn't explain it but that I "exude something that reaches out, grabs the other person, and pulls them in."  I'm not sure I agree with either of them but one thing is for sure: I make a lot of friends.  I call them my week-long best friend.  Or my August lover.  Or my 9-day man.  Or I don't call them anything but we are each other's first and last call of every day.

Most of them disappear...or mostly disappear since Facebook seems to be a must once you spend time with a person.  I got lucky last year and made a friend that I now consider one of my closest friends.  He stayed at my house for so long we couldn't remember what we had originally agreed upon (thank you, couchsurfing!) and when I fled my life and ran away to Barcelona I was able to be toted around on the back of a moto through the Barceloneta while stopping to eat whatever tapa was appropriate.  Bring on the pescaditos fritos!  I will eat their squishy heads again!

One Paraguayan and I stayed in touch after my month-long galavanting on random beaches and learning the differences between castellano, whatever it is they speak in Paraguay, and guaraní.  But it keeps fading and we probably both see the end in sight and won't admit it to the other so each week we send the appropriate hellohowareyou or, in our case, holaquétaltodo.


So, I've been thinking about everyone I spent time with on this trip once I had left California:

Mira in Sedona who was over my head with her hippiness and herbal healing practices...which is saying a lot since I have been known to spend a lot of time in Berkeley.

Alex Blossom and her crazy boyfriend, Muni, in Albuquerque who were so electric that you just needed to constantly be near them.  I think I regret turning down their offer to stay longer.

Jami and her secretly hilarious fiancé, Daniel, in Oklahoma City who had the couch that swallowed me.  She promised our mutual friend that she would "take care of me" which she did like a perfect mama.

Jeannie in Little Rock who was as tired as I was all weekend but who also welcomed me into her home with the Spanish feast to make me feel comfortable.

Christo in New Orleans who really needs no description.  Everyone knows I love him dearly.

Beau and his teddy bear housemate, Jon, in Birmingham who I was "stuck" with for 10 days instead of 2...

Justin and Jenny in Asheville who took me on a whirlwind of music consumption and eargasms only to send me off after carrot cake pancakes the next morning.

Jim and Peter in DC who were as excited to paint on my canvas as the 20-some year olds were.

But these people have probably all changed my life.  When I look back on all my adventures in the past seven years I can remember everyone I made short-term friends with.  Most in Spain have endured but that's because I have the help of my favorite non-biological family members and who my mum hopes is someday my future Spanish husband.  I've made so many connections around the world that I really don't worry about having a place to stay.  When I do, there's always couchsurfing.

I guess it's just a bit jarring to be sitting in my new city, feeling comfortable about living here, knowing how the city works because I've done it a million times, trying to look for the tiny thing I came here for, and being able to reminisce about all of these connections I've made.  It's hardest when you feel like you've made a different type of connection with someone and they turn away from you but I guess I'm used to it.  It was most eye-opening last summer after I tried running away the first time, sleeping in the car and walking endlessly with three Spanish men I barely knew.  When they dropped me off at the airport one of them saw the look on my face (I don't hide emotions well) and said, "Sometimes these things come back around."

And they do.  One of those men is now a close friend.  The others I barely speak to but all of these people I have a connection with.  If I ever go back to Little Rock I know I'll have a place to stay.  Albuquerque is somewhere I'd go again even if it did feel disjointed the entire time I was there...I certainly knew I had loved it when I left with a sunburn, a hangover, and sore abs from laughing.  Alabama sucked me in but maybe it'll spit out a bit of it in NYC soon so I guess these things turn in a circle.

I guess what I've been trying to say is that I feel grounded here but that my mind is elsewhere which probably isn't helping my cause.  Obviously, thoughts of being in the "wrong place" are constantly on my mind but at the same time I feel comfortable.  I'm in my own pocket and the person carrying me isn't listening to a word I have to say.  Having just met all of these people that have changed my life, well, it's taking me awhile to gather everything up and hold it in one place.  The good thing is that I've done this before and these things really do come back around.