Expectations

Do you ever wonder how you ever arrived at the place you’re at? Maybe it’s the city, apartment, time of day, art studio, school, relationship, bar, bed, or backyard? Do you ever wonder whose feet you fit in, and what the larger path looks like in three dimensions? And who is in charge of that? Who is driving that bus with you as the sole passenger and is there a way to get off that bus, because it’s lonely? When do you get out of this crisis decade, and is there an early exit out of your twenties, or do you have to wait until thirty?
In a sense you could consider this a coming to grips traveler entry, an amateur and American look at new surroundings and environments, but really is it isn’t even that large in scale. It is just a ponder and a larger question that I doubt anyone I know can answer but undoubtedly ask themselves the same. Rio has been hard, harsh, and louder, in more ways than one, than I expected, but I have learned to never expect in Rio de Janeiro. Maybe that rule applies to many cities and countries.
Travel and the earthly delights that we devour with our eyes and ears when we live in outside our comfort, are nothing but a tease to a 27 year old who feels 45 and 14 and nothing in between. It is teasing the senses and asking larger questions of me than I thought it would, and I come up with no answers. I don’t know what to say when the ocean asks me what direction I want it to carry me. The mountains are steep with obstacles and the concrete is unforgiving. Blood seeps from my cuts when I trip daily, and then I know I am human. This trip was supposed to help me, it was supposed to bring thoughts and hopes that had not found life inside me in years, it was supposed to…
But maybe that’s the problem, it’s supposed to do whatever the hell is wants to, despite what I want or wanted. Yes, so far this trip has left me with more confusion, but maybe that’s what it wants to do right now.