The last few weeks have been a blaze. One immediately important thing right before the next. I haven’t had a moment to think about what is coming up, what it all is for.
And then, sitting in sunny California, drinking as much good coffee as I could, earthquakes erupted inside of me. The overwhelmingness of it all sent such huge tremors they shook out of me and into Avry.
We spent the last three days in LA with the closest person to a sister I have. We drove around, and felt the surreal. Beverly Hills, Mulholland Drive, Malibu — all of these places that only exist in the movies, were suddenly reality. We reeled at the massive displays of wealth. The cars. The shoes. The green grass (in midst of a terrible drought). The people.
We wore our one outfit and got progressively smellier, watching all the beautiful people walk by. We ate decadent, maple bacon biscuits and recounted the number of dehydrated meals we packed for our first stretch of trail. We walked through the Roman Villa at the Getty and wondered what the heck we were doing and why.
And now, on a train (feeling exactly like my hero, Hercule Poirot), we have arrived to the day before The Day. All of the dreams are quickly solidifying into the now.
Bizarre. It is scary to try something new — whether it is big or small. And walking into the unknown is never a comfortable feeling. And it is always strange when fantasy is made reality.
But here we are, at the cusp of imagination and truth. And we are ready, as we ever could be, to make that leap.