At the end of week one, I felt like a mess. I was lonely. I was questioning if I made the right decision. I was exhausted. A week later, things have subtly shifted. It makes me think of a piece of writing I read within the past several months. The core of the piece was that feelings are meant to be felt. Last week, I was working hard at feeling.
I came to the end of this week feeling a little more solid. Yes, I’m still getting utterly lost on this island (man do I miss the simplicity of the grid-like streets of NYC). Yes, there are moments here and there that I find myself on the wrong side of the road (I used to know my right from my left). Yes, I am still hit with loneliness, as I find myself clinging to email and text to stay connected to those I love dearly back home.
Despite that, I was still able to find my way to the tiny farmer’s market, where I discovered the yellow fruit that grows from a cashew (I had no idea).
I enjoyed my first tastes of breadfruit, as I sat at lunch with someone who had extended the branch of friendship to me.
I’m less surprised when a chicken greets me at the breakfast table (New York has pigeons, Grand Cayman has chickens); though that doesn’t mean I forgive it when it climbs on the table and poops.
I was able to make it outside to watch a sunset.
I was able to stare at the stars.
I made it to a Saturday morning yoga class, where the the words on the wall read, “Every journey begins with a single step,” and “breathe,” gentle, but important reminders.
I’m trying to find my rhythms here. I’m getting closer.