about seven legs

In 2015, I got cabin fever. And I mean, it was bad.

College was over, my job was unfulfilling. When I took long walks, I found myself looking up at passing jets. I used to do that as a child, when my wanderlust was young and all-consuming. I wanted to be on those planes, traveling to the wonderful places I read about.

Since that childhood I have seen a bit of the world. I have also returned home. Home is comfort, but it is also a cul-de-sac. Watching those contrails, I knew it was time to do something about it.

I wanted to go somewhere specific, somewhere just for me. I realized that to go for your dream, you have to put yourself first. Not selfishly, but out of respect for that dream. I had gone to school because it was expected. I had changed schools for forgotten reasons. I studied abroad in a beautiful place, but it was not without influence from others. This time, I had to decide where I was going based on nothing but my own instincts.

Every time I have traveled, it has been planned or plotted. Someone was there to collect me at the airport, or I met with a group. It was A to B. Simple. I didn't have to think.

There is seven hours difference between here and home. There are seven legs in the journey to reach the place I am now. Boston to Reykjavik, Reykjavik to Helsinki Airport, Helsinki Airport to Tikkurila station, Tikkurila to Tampere, Tampere to Seinäjoki, Seinäjoki to Alajärvi, Alajärvi bus stop to this house. This journey is complicated. It is even harder to accomplish with snow delays in January. It is seven times I could miss a connection. Seven chances to be stranded. Seven possibilities.