I’ve been thinking lately about the things I want.
I want to go to America and Canada. I want to go to Paris. I want to work overseas. I want an adventure. I want to see something spectacular. I want to meet new people.
I want to sit too close to a campfire with a group of friends and drink sweet cider and laugh and tell stories and when at 1 or 2am we stumble into our tents and sleeping bags, I want to feel the heat of my red cheeks against the cool of the pillow and feel the warmth in my chest, so happy that I fall asleep smiling.
I want to try a croque monsieur in Paris and discover they are rich and filling but have nothing that can make me feel as full as the view of the sun shining on the seine and the bustling little cafes in the shadow of architectural wonders, walking the footsteps of geniuses and visiting the works of artists that feel like they were painted for me alone, for this very moment when I would stand in front of them. Art that makes me aware of my own heartbeat.
I want to take in the view of a mountain range from some man-made constructed lookout with a bench and a pair of heavy coin slot binoculars. I want to let that view and those mountains make me feel small and insignificant and like I could do anything I wanted and it would escape the world’s notice.
I want to be kissed on a beach under the stars, water lapping at our feet, my hair tangled in the wind and a heart full of hope.
I want to feel healthy and strong and graceful. Like I could run or dance or climb like a child and do so fearlessly with confidence and determination.
I want to learn how to let go of the safety that I have kept as a barrier to new experiences and as a shield against things that might hurt me. I want to be able to say yes to things that challenge me without the chokehold of anxiety pushing the breath from my lungs and every rational thought from my head.
I want the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, I want all of life. The drama and the peace. For a long time I’ve only had half of what life had to offer but to cut yourself off from half is to cut yourself off from all and you end up observing dumbly from the sidelines. I want to enter the fray.
A stumble in the right direction is still a step.
I have a lot to learn but for the first time in ages, I want to.
Read about Emily Diana Ruth’s ‘Letters to July’ project here