Dear Digital Diary

Dear Digital Diary,

while I think some people are meant to stay rooted, others are meant to migrate.

At my job, I’ve found myself around people who are over seventy with several lives already lived. When it’s senior day, some say they wish they were still as young as me; they tell me that I should enjoy my life, and that I’ve got so many years ahead.

In some ways, I find that amount of time daunting. I’ve always been someone who’s so deeply nostalgic that I don’t notice the present slipping away as I think about everything I’ve experienced.

Looking toward the future used to feel like planning for failure. It meant accepting that certain things wouldn’t happen the way I’d imagined, and facing the anxiety that comes with the unknown.

Recently, whether it’s post-grad life or the endings of things I didn’t think would end, the future has become less scary. In fact, I look forward to it, so much so that I often feel as though I’m jumping the gun a bit, living from one sunny beach day to a concert I’ve been waiting for to the next trip.

But that’s because it no longer feels daunting. It’s exciting.

Maybe that’s why I’ve become so drawn to travel. The future no longer feels like something to fear, but instead like somewhere to go.

I’ve wanted to travel since I was younger. I grew up going to Long Island and Delaware to visit family in the summertime. I took a few trips during my childhood to Utah, Washington, D.C., and Florida. I loved the rush that traveling gave me.

I ended up going to school in Savannah, Georgia, and while I was there, I made my rounds through Orlando, Kiawah, Charleston, Hilton Head, Atlanta, New York City, Philadelphia, Provo, and eventually across the Atlantic to Florence, Rome, and Siena.

After returning to Maine, I’ve spent the past year (when I’m not working or writing) traveling from my hometown to Acadia and Bar Harbor, down to Boston via train, and across the country to Las Vegas, Venice Beach, and Sedona.

While I’m always exhausted afterward, I look back on those trips with fondness. Because in all of these places, I haven’t just experienced and enjoyed: I’ve also learned.

The South was a cultural shock to me — a girl who grew up in a New England town of mostly Democrats and L.L.Bean clothes. I learned about fake niceness versus real niceness, the history of Savannah and the Deep South. I learned about the newer locals and the old locals, those with old money and how they gained it through the use of others’ labor.

In Europe, I learned that most places refuse to serve coffee after noon. That dinner is served around seven, and that meals are not rushed like they are in the United States. People linger around the table, enjoying each other’s company rather than eating because it’s a necessity. I also became more aware of how Americans are perceived abroad.

In bigger cities, I learned that I need nature to wind down and feel like myself. 

As a young girl, it was my dream to live in a skyscraper in New York City. But now I find cities with tall buildings claustrophobic. Where I thrived in the laid-back pace of Italy, I drowned in American cities. I had to walk fast, talk fast, think fast. But there was also this energy that dreams could be as big as the skyscrapers. I enjoyed that aspect.

In my future, I see myself migrating often.

Like the geese in Maine who land in the marshes at the start of spring and fly south for the winter, I’ll migrate somewhere else once I feel it’s becoming too chilly for me to stay.

Next winter, I’d like to fly to Greece. Back to Italy, perhaps. I’ll make it to California someday. I’ve been thinking about North Carolina and the Outer Banks. Hawaii. Turkey. Luxembourg. Australia.

And on and on and on.

And while I’m there, I’ll learn.

Someday, once I’ve put down roots and have long gray hair braided down my back, and I’m at the age where I tell young people that they’ve got so much life ahead, I’ll sit on my porch with a cup of coffee and think about all the lives I’ve lived.

All the people I’ve met. The cultures I’ve learned about. The languages I’ve spoken. The art I’ve made.

And I’ll smile.