Though I usually like to narrate stories from the beginning, I think I’d like to begin this one with the end.
What’s one to do after the great adventure? What’s there to life after the sights, the God moments, the wonder, the thrills?
How did I get here? About year ago, this was only a faint goal that I had in mind. My savings couldn’t pay for this. My salary couldn’t pay for this. Here I was, a twenty-something year old, still living with her mom, with nothing but a, “Hey God, can we go there?”
How strange what aging does to you. It reduces, both bloodily and aggressively, the things you thought would once make you happy.
My lola (grandmother) Nene always told me this when I was a teenager: “Sammy, when I die and you’re speaking at my funeral, you have to say this in your eulogy: ‘When my lola was still alive, she always told me, Sammy I can never live with you’” Whether this was said affectionately or not…