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Just write.  That’s what I’ve been repeating to myself for the last two days.  But what do I say?  How much of my private life do I make public?  How many secrets should I share this time?  People have told me that when they read through the blog, they feel like they know me, even if we have never met.  That’s such a compliment.  It means I’ve found some sort of authenticity in writing, and that’s important to me.  And I guess, since you know me, I need to enlist your help.  I feel as if I’m on the edge of an identity crisis.  If you know who I am, can you please let me know?  Thanks.

I had one of those crisis once.  Not pretty.  Very not pretty.

This isn’t exactly the same calibre this time, but I am feeling lost.  Many times, I’ve said that if lost, return me to the nearest airport, and I’ll be just fine.  The only reason I want to go to an airport right now is to disappear from the Island and my jumbled thoughts.  Other than that, recently, airports haven’t been the happiest place for me.  Full of standby nightmares, goodbyes, and exhaustion.

All I really want to do is write about my trip to Edinburgh, not what I’m typing out currently, but, I can’t seem to get past anything but this question:

“What the hell am I doing?”

Answer:  I don’t know

But do I ever?

This time, the question isn’t in reference to my job, or where I will be living, but with life decisions.  Relationship decisions.  How I spend my time decisions.  God decisions.  Yes.  Serious shit (I don’t swear often, but sometimes strong words serve a purpose.  Sorry Grandma).  The decisions I have been making recently have been slightly out of character, and ‘the outsider’ of my soul, the voice that is smart, makes healthy choices, and keeps my life from falling into total chaos keeps repeating, “Kara, what are YOU doing?”  I shake my head.  “Stop talking” I whisper.

Since Sunday night, I’ve been in blatant rebellion to the adult in me.  An adult woman that I haven’t known before.  A woman that wants companionship, stability, and rest.  The adult that can say slow down, relax, and commit.  I want the girl back.  The gyspy, the free spirit, the flirt.  I want to be in that space still, even if only for a minute.  Hawaii has quickly and sneakily caused me to mature through the moving so much, the dating so much, and the living with tons of roommates so much.

The phase of my life I’ve scooted into makes my eyes wide in nervousness.  I’ve been blindsided.  I feel like someone threw me into a professional ice hockey game, telling me to skate fast, keep the puck in front of me, and check the big dude in the corner.  Good grief! I don’t ice skate well, if at all, and am about half pint size to check someone.  Please just check me out of here!

To say the least, I’m feeling incredibly far from a comfortable zone.  It fascinates me how bold and brave I am when traveling, but what I’m facing right now terrifies me.  It has been causing fits of tears.  I’m just scrambling to press rewind.

Take me back to Barcelona, The Aussie, and walking the city with Elijah.  Transport me to Guatemala and riding along the mountain roads with Jesse.  One more time, can I please dance with Emily at a night club in Zadar, and be invited to dinner with not one, but ten Swedish firemen in Munich?  I just want to keep going away, but to keep going away, to keep dating the next cutest face, means I will have to sacrifice my longterm hopes.  A friend of mine told me once, “When I thought I had all the time in the world, I really didn’t, and I realized that much to late.”  That statement is relevant for much in life.  I easily become distracted.  Letting life right now dictate what will be, and forget to be intentional.

I can keep playing, and going away all of the time, because that is what is comfortable and that is what I am used to, or I can acknowledge the discomfort, embrace who I am becoming, and know that I will settle into the new adventures.  And until then, I am going to make better decisions.  Hopefully…