4 hours in, as I sat alone on an empty flight to LA, I began to feel fear. The swamped days leading up to my somewhat secret escape, had resulted in a failure to acknowledge that somewhere in the back of my dream-driven mind, lurked doubt. But it was a little late for that, so I let my thoughts fade into oblivion, hoping that they’d forever be lost in the clouds around me. As it were, it wouldn’t be the last time these feelings would surface, but for now, it was just me and a whole load of hope.
At the beginning it was hard. To find your feet in a place that isn’t home is a struggle in it’s own right, but to do it while you’re broke, is demoralising. There were days I felt defeat. There were days I needed a comfort that nobody could provide. I longed for decisions to be made for me, and when I thought I’d found the answers, I’d be revoked back into distrust.
The day things started to brighten up, was the day I made a conscious choice to own my decisions. The people I would meet, the places I would see, the shack I would come to call home were all part of the shower of blessings I was soon to receive. The memories made will be kept forever in my heart.
At the time I thought it was my need for adventure that led me to the Golden State, but looking back now, the truth is, it was all just fear. Fear of not living, of never finding happiness, of always being sad. I think fondly of the months I spent in California. It seems a lifetime ago but it was the place I began to fix my broken self, the place my healing began and, most importantly, the place I discovered the sooner I gave up my search for happiness, the sooner it would come finding me.