I wasn’t daring or adventurous. I was never the type to do something on a whim and worry about the consequences later. I didn’t dream big; why get my hopes up? My entire life, the essence of my state of being, all of the plans in my head could be summed up in one word - practical.
So maybe it was because I needed a vacation from myself. Maybe it was the idea that every good girl deserves to be bad every once in a while. Or maybe, maybe, it was the small voice inside of my head that said you never let me do anything, you never really live, and here’s another opportunity you’re going to wonder about and rationalize giving up for the rest of your life. Maybe, I thought, it was the girl I honestly was, honestly wanted to be, winning for once. Whatever it was, I said yes, and I don’t regret it.
I used to think I was smart. I used to think I was mature and smart and grounded having as many limitations as I did, living as safely as I did, having a plan for every step, every day, every moment. Sure, I survived. I got here faster, safer, and with more successes than anyone I know. Everything I ever reached for I obtained through being smart, being grounded, having a plan. The one thing I don’t have, however, is the one thing I’ve always honestly wanted but never admitted. The one thing I don’t have is a story to tell.
Let’s get started.
