9 countries. 20+ cities. 30 days.
Somewhere between Zaragoza and Madrid — Two thoughts written towards the end of my trip. I’ll go through and recount each city with images as I see fit. But these are the most honest feelings of my overall experience.
The only purpose I now see for wealth is to travel. If you have a lot of money and choose to only spend it on material things instead of travel and experiences you’re foolish and have no idea what you’re missing. I no longer have a desire to save for things, of course there will always be stuff I want, but now all I really really want is to travel again. To be free to wander through cities at leisure. I may never be staying in the most luxurious hotels and dining at those restaurants. But I can see them. I can get next to them. I can go to the bars and people watch. I want to see everything the world has to offer. When I’m an old woman I want to be elegant, but I also want to leave my grandchildren with exotic stories of the places I’ve been.
I want to be in love, create art, and see the world. This trip was the best thing for me. Going back to LA right now would only pause what I need to do and create more confusion for my inner self. Perhaps in another chapter of my life I’ll end up there again — but right now as I’m riding through the Spanish countryside reminiscing on my strolls through Venice and how large my eyes got at the sight of the French Riviera.. it all makes sense to me now. All I have to do is go live it.
Another reoccurring thought I’ve had as the trip winds down is the fact that I feel like I could keep going for a few more weeks, months, years? But I see that it would be impossible to maintain a relationship. I barely get to talk to b or to my family, but I don’t feel lonely. I miss him when I see something amazing and wish he could see it too, and I’m sure if I stayed in one place for a long time I would really feel the separation, but as I jump from place to place it’s like the world is on pause and the only thing that matters is what I’m doing that day or getting some rest. I’ve noticed myself not really wanting to tell my friends and fam what I’ve done each day, I feel annoyed as if it’s too personal and I just don’t feel like reiterating it (especially after I spend hours journaling) and it’s too detailed too vibrant too intense too emotional to try to explain through a text or email. I want to know more words so I can describe it better, but then I also want to keep it for myself. And I can barely remember what I did or where I was a few days ago.
They say a picture tells a thousand words, but honestly no one knows what I was doing when these pictures were captured, the circumstances, if it was staged or candid. How can I possibly share my experiences with someone unless they saw it too. I kinda love the feeling that I could disappear into the world and just keep traveling with no idea what’s going on around me.
My life back home seems so quaint and comfortable compared to what I’ve been doing and seeing. It’s unreal. But it kind of scares me too, why do I feel this way? Why do the things that are so important to me seem less important while I’m here? My reason for wanting to go (what I was seeking inspiration for) is still here. I still have the vision and constantly snap pictures to remember, but it seems so small. so separated from me. Does that mean they really aren’t that Important? Or no? Am I really that passionately in love? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just thinking about it too hard.
I am excited to get back home and to my regular life to see what kind of shift has actually taken place. My brain is literally bursting with so many thoughts. I’m eager to look back through my pictures and read my journal to relive each place I visited and turn these inspirations into work and style and ways of living.
C
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Sneak peek at the pile of the loot I drug home:
First image is of me at the W Barcelona and the second was taken on the street in Firenze, Italy.