anywhere at all

notes on the great voyage onward

hello, my sparkly-eyed stargazer,

what does it look like out your window? how does the air in the room feel? where have your daydreams been taking place?

lately, mine have led out to the chill, the white-capped waters of the northwest; where I’ll sit by the pier, staring out to tree-lined islands peppering the horizon, and watch a colossal tail lift from the water. or my ankles are caked with rusty brown sand at the end of the day, sweat gathered around my collar—I’ve laid out in the dark with my head pressed against a camping chair, listening to the desert fall asleep, watching for the stars. or maybe the sun’s on my face in late July, bells pealing from fishing boats on the harbor; I’m waiting for my friends outside a store in Maine and watching gulls pick apart a dropped soft serve. 

there was a time I believed I had gone everywhere I might see.
my desk in college was smattered with travel brochures and flyers. I kept six tabs open on my browser about the most popular places to visit in Greece; what time of year was best to see Scotland. I was going to study for a while in Thailand, pick up a bus-driving gig in Alaska, maybe even research volcanoes in Iceland. and this is not to tell a sad story, but in those four years, and even the six that have happened since, my passport never left my nightstand. I was young when I made my dreams so quiet. I called it growing up instead of robbery. now I’m older and forget how to dream as loudly. I want all of it back. 

dear friend, I’ve been squeezing my eyes shut tight, writing down every daydream, and picturing a blank boarding pass between my hands before I fall asleep. traveling isn’t the only dream I’ve had for my life, but oh, if there’s a way to shake up the dust of myself, this might be it. it’s working, I can hear it all a little better. I can hear me a little better. last week, my best friend and I booked train tickets for the end of May. we’re going to Seattle. we’ll ride the three hours north, leisuring in the company of the café car, listening to passengers stir sugar into their coffee cups and the shuffle of tracks beneath us. a friend from home mentioned plans to road trip to Maine and asked if I want to join. we’ll talk long into this weekend about budgets, bed & breakfasts, and lobster festivals. 

and here, there’s a grateful stir in my stomach, of both nerves and delight—how I have built this life completely inward, and now can find more places to put it down. how lucky, in the face of letting my eagerness go hungry, that I get the chance to taste something new. I’ll play your favorite song at the top of the Ferris wheel. I’ll send you a postcard. I’ll tell you all the stories when I come back.

with love,

schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck