I’m still processing Las Vegas. My body is still not back to normal after that whirlwind madness. My hips still complain a little (you try two flights in one day and a lot of walking inbetween!) I’m still somewhat dehydrated because when given the choice between latte and water I’m opting for latte. I’m still tired (which explains the latte love somewhat.) At least once a day “damn. Vegas” is uttered from my lips. I think it’s going to be a long time before I’m recovered and I really don’t mind. Needing a vacation from my vacation, all that.
What is throwing me a little bit is just how much my mindset has changed since coming home. I learned life lessons on my trip, sure, but I also learned some things about myself. I’ve tried to shove them off a bit in the name of getting back to a regular schedule and working on the Very Important Things in my life, but I keep finding my mind wandering at random points in the afternoon and the ache that bubbled up as I looked out over the visual loudness of the Strip just won’t stay down. It keeps coming up, it keeps making me ache and as I sit here with papers spread everywhere on my dining room table I recognize that I can’t and won’t get away from it:
I found myself in Vegas.
She was the wide-eyed small-town girl gobsmacked by the height of the buildings and the brightness of the lights. She was the young woman who swallowed down her discomfort with the noise and bustle to explore completely unfamiliar places. She opted to go her own way. She was the confident woman chatting up strangers. She was the tourist, she was the curious, she was the nonplussed, she was the creative who could feel the buzz of the universe and wanted to capture it whole. She was the daredevil who half-ran to the airport gate to catch the flight back home, confident and cocky that nothing could stop her. I didn’t recognize myself on my trip a good chunk of times but now that I’m back I realize that what happened there was less a fun trip and more a resolution of all my scattered parts. I know myself far, far better today than I did on Saturday morning when the plane lifted off.
I’ve been reading a book about blogging and it pretty much says that for a blog to have an audience and be meaningful it has to be curated. The author has to pick a theme or a topic or a type and stick to it lest they lose audience. I’m sure that’s true for people who just want an audience, but I write for myself first and just hope to meet people along the way, maybe even inspire someone. I write because I’m looking for friends and discussion and I write to be myself. If there is one thing I know very clearly after this past weekend is that being myself means being many things between wide-eyed and polished. I am who I am. I love lots of things and I don’t believe in putting myself in boxes.
I am who I am and I’m just going to be me.