I shuffled my feet against the sand as the gently rolling waves sidled up to the shore. A half-rainbow danced along the horizon—oreoed between high rise beach condos— as the sun skipped above the sea. This was Florida.
For a minute, it felt like a miracle. For a moment, my stress vanished, and I melted into the beauty of the landscape. For a second, this space felt like home. But, was it really? How could it be? I was more like a lost little puppy who showed up on my friend Keith’s doorstep after a trip. We both laughed when he opened the door. I must have looked like a disheveled mess as the rain had caught me in its torrential pour. That’s just a humorous scene when you are also wearing a “salad bowl” (that silly flight attendant hat) on your head and a cabin crew uniform. Geez, I can’t help but laugh at me sometimes.
Yesterday, I laughed at myself when I said that “Big Ben usually doesn’t look that big;” like this iconic attribute of London has the power to change it’s size and style based on the day. I giggled as Chamomile flowers swirled around a cocktail glass as a sipped the swanky liquid at a posh London lounge. In this place, I was happy that I knew the Doctor and smiled coyly when he commented on my elegance, and my shoes. I wouldn’t describe myself as elegant, but the shoes were a good choice, and London— Yes. London is always a good choice.
Two days prior to London, I watched the waves crashing on a California beach, while Tim— the old local surfer guy— caught the incoming, and launched the outgoing kites, and told me all of the stories about how kiteboarding “became” at this spot. And that day; that whole day felt like my favorite day. It felt like home.
Maybe, I am always home in some way. Maybe, this is what it’s like for a modern day gypsy— an international flight attendant. So adept at flaunting her chameleon feathers around the globe and falling so madly in love with who she is in each place. She is different in each place, and she is also the same. I am convinced, that there are elements of ourselves that we pack along, no matter what the destination. But, there are also elements we leave behind, because they will not fit, do not match, or simply are not appropriate for the season.
It’s like packing your suitcase, Sassy Stew. You don’t need shorts in the winter in Iceland, but don’t be an idiot and forget your swimsuit. The smartest cabin crew always pack a swimsuit. Remember The Blue Lagoon. You become what you need to be based on what is required and what fits. The odd part is, you fit everywhere.
It’s funny how art mimics life, or is it the other way around of life mimicking art? Today, while walking along the beach, I listened to this song.
Alone again // under the city lights
Wasting away // don’t wanna lose myself tonight
Battle through the waves // a renegade
Against the grey surrounding me
I was born to fight // made to forge the way
I’m here to stay
It don’t matter where we come from or where we’ll go
Cos baby, we’ve been searching for it way too long
No we’re not gonna find it if we’re standing still
So, baby, come with me
And maybe then you’ll see
Everywhere I roam is home. Everywhere I roam is home
Everywhere I roam is home, home, home, home, home
Because, I don’t have a place to live in Florida and it’s really hard actually. I want a place to live. But, everywhere I roam is home.
Curious. Bubbly. Creative. Curating a life I don't need an escape from and inspiring you to do the same.