My intention was to find my new home. Past that, I didn't have many firm plans. I'd filled my bags with enough clothes for various climates, but also a few familiar things; a couple of my favorite mugs, a few little paintings, my french press, a nice sauce pan for cooking. I didn't know how long this journey was going to take, and something inside of me had the good sense to keep some of these pieces of home with me.
Since that day, I've slept in over 20 beds. There have been a few nights when I felt lonely and homeless, but mostly I've felt free. I've found myself staying in some amazing places, rented Airbnb apartments, couch-surfed and sublet. My wanderlust has taken me from a tiny hilltop town in Southern Spain, to a gorgeous apartment in SF, to a tree house in Tomales bay, to a hilltop mining town in Arizona.
Today I find myself typing at a desk, overlooking the golden gate park, watching a San Franciscan bike past with his surfboard strapped to his bikes. And I count my lucky stars for my good fortune, for the generosity of friends, but also for learning the lesson of how to let go a little and follow the current.