in transit

leaving was hard.

i can't even explain fully how much this trip, at this particular moment, cuts deeply into the heart of some of the biggest things that scare me: being alone, being imperfect and unskilled {excusie moi, parlee voo ainglis? – spelling is intentional here}, not earning money for 5 weeks, not having a home or even a small space to claim as my own. being alone. that one counts twice. and cumulatively, they cast a shadow across the final week before my departure. a shadow that took over and spilled out of me once i finally had a place to share it: an open heart to listen, nod, hold me gently across a phone line. two actually. the same kind spirits that were there at the end of packing up my life into storage back in july. my mom and my brother, standing by me once again, even if not on a sidewalk and in physical form tonight.

so wednesday i got on the plane, equipped with two last minute additions that were so aptly chosen for me by a dear friend: a compass so i could find my way back and a little red travel journal. perfect size, perfect color, and an unexpected reprieve from having to finish binding my next journal before my flight the next day {i finished filling my last one on a beach in hawaii}.

but somewhere in the middle of the flight, the fears burst in my chest once again. maybe i chose the wrong song, or maybe the right one, but suddenly i'm in tears turning out toward the window, away from my seat-mate and i looked out blindly into the dark sky we are traveling through and saw a shooting star. but before i could even grasp the wonderment of the timing, i realize that the shooting star's path pointed directly towards some strange looking clouds. very vertical. very glowing. and as the awe of catching a shooting star swept through me, as the tears hit harder, i realized i was seeing the northern lights. something i have been waiting all my life for.

i looked out and stared for over an hour, the song still on repeat, as we slowly passed through them, these glowing formations so calmly suspended. they were not trying to get anywhere, as clouds often are, but just merely being. breathing. it was incredible.

i held a pillow up to the window to block out the glare, ignored the damage i might be doing by craning my neck for that many hours, and simply took it all in. i lost track of counting the shooting stars somewhere around 7. they were generous as well.

i've always felt a strong certainty that this trip is exactly what i needed to be doing at this exact moment for this exact length of time and that, in their own way, the fears are an indication of that rightness. they are the gatekeeper between me and the person i can challenge myself to be and they won't keep me out. they can't. they're merely reassurance that i am in fact doing the right thing.

but what greater gift, what greater sign from the universe could be given in support of this grand adventure than by so effortlessly, so gracefully surprising me with a bit of magic and wonder and heralding it with a shooting star to boot?