This week, I’m gearing up for my next seaside getaway. I am New York and Dominican Republic bound this Thursday to attend the first wedding to take place from my group of college friends.
When I’ve experienced traumatic events in my life, there has always been a fork at the road. I could choose to lead an examined life and grow, or I could choose to blame people and environments. The former gives me back agency, responsibility and control during a time when circumstances and events cannot be changed. The latter allows me to experience short-term gratification in an attempt to justify and rationalize the pain that I am experiencing.
Flowers in the wild, they bloom so freely. They grow untended in an untamed paradise, undisturbed and unperturbed by the turbulences and distractions of modern living.
Like Miami, Arizona was never at the top of my bucketlist for travel. I was dreaming of Lagos, Naples, all of Australia, and Zanzibar. My mood catered to a safari or a getaway with white sand and clear, calm seaside.
I’m always on the road these days, which is part thrilling and part exhausting. Most recently, I was on the east coast in Miami, a city that I am almost certain was intended to be designed as an adult’s playground.