It wasn’t very long ago that Marlowe and I were in France. Almost a year a go really, but it feels closer to a six month mark. And here we are going back. Tonight, we’ll be on a plane to Paris once again.
And the thing is, as amazing as these next few weeks will be, I’ve been trying not to think too much about it. Which maybe sounds crazy. But the more I think about it, the more emotional I become. And there is obviously nothing wrong with emotions and feeling all your feelings through (and through again), but I just don’t want to let myself do that right now. Every time I think about going to Europe with Marlowe my eyes swell up with tears.
And maybe thats crazy, because she’s been there before (she absolutely loved it). This isn’t her first time. France isn’t a big bold new adventure. But this is still something for me. Something huge.
It’s just that, when I got sick, I didn’t know what would be next for me. For us. And every time I hit a low low low, I still feel it so hard. It breaks me physically and emotionally. And if I’m being honest, every time it happens, I cry, because I know my life is being shortened. And the fact is that my life has already been shortened. My body has been through so much.
And time and future, well, as much as I’d like it to be, it’s just not promised.
So while it’s not the first time we’re heading off to France, this is, without a doubt, a very big deal for me. Because every time I crash, I wonder, will I ever feel alive again? Will I adventure again? WillI live long enough to watch Marlowe grow? Will I live well enough to live (truly live) with my family? I don’t know. I don’t know. I just don’t know. And no one will have the answers for me.
So everyday that am alive I’m grateful. And everyday that I feel alive, even more so.
And now, when I have enough energy (even if I don’t feel great, I feel well enough) to make a cross Atlantic journey with my kid alone… well… I don’t even think I can handle thinking about it…
It’s just too much. In a good way, but too much.
I am alive. And living.
It was January last time we were in France. This time, it’ll be September.
We’ve gone through all the seasons for sure. I’ve gone through them. And I’m still shifting. Continuously waking up each morning playing a balance game between trying to figure out where my life will lead and just living it. I’m content where I am, but constantly undeniably curious of what else is in store.
After sickness, my sense of safety in the world is gone. Painfully difficult to admit, but I don’t feel safe anywhere. Because no matter where I am in the world, I’m in my body. And this body (as strong as my attitude can be sometimes) is fragile. I’m not running away, searching for safety. I’ve given up on that feeling. But I do use this fear to push me further into living a life, all in. I want to truly embrace the important parts of life: family, love, learning, and exploration. And maybe one day I’ll feel safe again. Maybe one day fear won’t be my normal. But until then, I’m living. And that’s more than enough for me.
I’m so very much looking forward to the next two weeks ahead. And not exceptionally anxious, unless I let myself be. I’m telling myself over and over, the most difficult part will be the plane ride east. After that, just breathe. I just need to live there, how I live here.
Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. Being present and living through each moment. Completely open-minded and ready for anything. I am.
Of course we’ll miss Alex. But I’m so excited to be able to take a big journey with Marlowe again. We haven’t truly been able to do that since I got sick. This will be a good one. We’ve asked my mom to join us for the first leg of the trip– a girl party of three in Paris. And then Marlowe and I are off, alone, to adventure in London, a completely new and foreign-to-us city. A real adventure for sure. We haven’t really done anything like this, basically since we picked up and I carried her on my hip all the way to Hawaii with a one way ticket in hand. Something new. Something brave. Something for her…. and for me too.
There’s no doubt I’ll cry sometime in the next few weeks. I will. I’m sure of it. And it will feel amazing.
These photos were taken last January, just a few hour train ride from Paris– in a tiny village near Dijon France. We won’t be heading to Dijon this trip– but maybe again next year? We’ll see where life takes us.
I have a bunch of posts lined up for this coming week. I’ll post them when I get there. Wish us luck, friends. xxx