All This Time

42 ⦿ in which i become

Part of me always believed that the people who left New York were the people who didn't try hard enough, who just couldn't hack being small fish in a big pond. It wasn't until I was one of them that I realized that as much as the city felt like a second skin, it was also keeping me the same. Keeping me Charlotte when really, all I wanted was to be someone else. 

I was ready for a new chapter in my life, ready to be somebody who knew what the hell they were doing and what they were doing it for. I was tired of living life in the monotony of clients. I didn't want to be Wolf, who studied literature and law and had to stow it away in a box so he could fill bigger shoes.

I didn't want to look back and regret it all. The truth was, I didn't know where I would be in a years time. Even a month. Not even as recent as next week. I chose to focus only on the next twenty-four hours. One day at a time. One breath at a time. My path took me to my parent's house, where they were overjoyed to see the prodigal daughter return from "the big city". I didn't tell them about Wolf or about my company, not because I was ashamed, but because I was starting to get over both losses and discussing it at length with other people would only make me blue again. 

Talking about things until they were beaten into the ground was usually only for the benefit of other people, I'd come to realize. I didn't want to be a girl who talked anymore. I wanted to be a girl who did things, who traveled, who read, who became.

"Are you backpacking through Europe?" my flight mate asks, twisting in his seat to smile at me. He jerks his thumb up, pointing at the overhead compartment above us. "Me too. Traveling light."

At my blank look, he elaborates, "I saw your stuff. You only had one bag."

"Right. Um, I'm not really backpacking. I don't know what I'm doing. I just wanted to travel."

"Wow, so you're a free spirit, huh?"

It takes a moment to realize he's not judging or mocking, but openly admiring. His pleasant face splits into a broad grin and it's easy to return his smile. 

"Not really. But maybe one day," I say with a laugh, pulling my earbuds out of my ears. "I don't know why I chose Paris. I've been there before. And it feels really stupid to go by myself to the city of love, but I got cheap tickets and right now, anywhere is better than here."

The guy's smile fades. "You know, when you try to outrun your problems, you tend to take more than one bag with you."

"I'm carrying my emotional baggage with me?" I crack a weary smile. 

"My two cents. For what it's worth."

"And what makes you an expert?"

He chuckles and takes a sip out of the tiny plastic cup of Sprite. "A life of knowledge. Every time someone broke up with me, I took off. Couldn't deal."

"I didn't break up with anyone, but I was still the one who did the breaking," I say, curling my fingers around my orange juice.

We chat for the rest of the flight about inane things, never coming back to this tense topic, and when we part ways at the arrivals gate, we don't promise to stay in touch or exchange emails. We just say goodbye and safe travels, and it's a good, clean break.

Paris is beautiful. I hadn't doubted that it would be, but the sheer atmosphere of it still overwhelms me when I clamber off the metro, grungy and tired from a full day of traveling. No one gives me a second glance as I lug my suitcase up three streets, up two flights of stairs, all the while getting by in awkward, halting French as I speak to the chic Parisian woman who I'm renting a flat from for the month.