Baby, It’s Complicated.

I stare out the bay window of his apartment. The semi-circle chaise lounge fits snuggly into the corner space. An orange throw is draped over my outstretched legs. My computer perched; the keys patiently awaiting direction. I like this room. I like this room a lot.

I don’t remember days of the week. I am challenged by timezones; staying up all night. Wondering if it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner. At the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter. Because days don’t really end. Days just are, and I live in a dizzy daze. Tired is the feeling of a mild hangover and if this was one, I would advise to cut back on drinking. But, my addiction isn’t liquor. My addiction is this crazy, beautiful, odd Flight Attendant Life... We talk about awe, and I realize that I am missing the wonder I once had. I am no longer the new flight attendant. I am no longer the youngest or the cutest or the most adventurous. I am no longer the little girl who looked at a map of places— of all of the places that she had never been and said, “I will go.  I can’t wait to go. Watch me world. Watch out world.” The girl has grown up some. An understanding has replaced the awe.

It is critical to be authentic, honest, and keep priorities in tact when living ‘Flight Attendant Life.’ Maybe that’s my problem right now.  I have lost sight of my priorities. I feel like I have lost some of my authenticity as I am growing this site. I no longer write only for my heart or for my friends, but to who-knows-who. I cover topics that are less personal. I begin to hide the truest of stories. I begin to hide me. If I am completely honest, the tension between ambition, flying, and relationships weighs on me. I don’t want this career of mine to cease to exist. Yet. For as much as I want permanency and predictability; stability and control; I am hopelessly lost in the adventure of my crazy life.

I just can’t seem to answer the thought that if I fit so many places, how do I know where I belong? There is a completeness when I am in California, acceptance when I live in Florida, contentment felt when walking through Oslo, and a comfortable happiness on this couch. In a corner of an apartment in a Los Angeles neighborhood. The dreamer in me lives with at least one bag grounded in reality, while the realities of this lifestyle battles the novelty of staying. I can’t stay forever in this room; in this space. Writing mornings away; watching Wimbledon and drinking a coffee. That does sound so nice. For the moment it is so nice.

There is the piece of me that toys and plays with the idea of wanting to belong. To belong to someone. To, instead of building the list of ‘Places That I Have Been,’ create the story of ‘Places That I Have Stayed.’ Honestly, completely honestly, as I type this while sitting in an airport (naturally), I want to try out the adventure of living somewhere. To invest in a relationship instead of the foreign currencies that fill my handbag

It’s hard to know— when the idea of something is not the current reality— how living that idea would be. Every world is always twice as nice from a distance. Maybe I am just in love with the idea of ‘settled.’ To you, my world, my work, me…I have it twice as nice, right?

This isn’t the blog that I wanted it to be. I don’t think I am communicating effectively.  I find the words misleading, as if I am saying that I am not happy. Maybe that’s where the confusion lies. I am happy, but I also didn’t wake up younger. Baby, this flight attendant life, it’s complicated. It’s complicated when you want to belong, but the very place that you belong best is a place that always takes you to new places. That the place that you belong best is the reason that you meet attractive men, interesting woman, and see beautiful locales.

I won’t stay in this town long.  I leave almost as soon as I arrive.  To another place, where I may or may not have ever been. And like Wimbledon and coffee,  I kind of like it in this different place. I may kick my feet up, and say that I wish I could stay.

But Baby, that’s complicated…