10 Months Later...

As I passed the 10 month mark of my runaway adventures this week, I realized an important lesson I left off of the list last month in my post, about 9 Things I Learned in 9 Months on the Run ... So, here you go - Lesson 10.

Stealing a first kiss on this bridge at midnight, with the city lit up before us... smooth... real smooth.

10 - Write about everything.

Street mussels - the perfect snack for a night of drinking with friends!

I've known I should learn this for quite some time. In my (failed) endeavors to become a historian, I utilized journals and field notebooks of soldiers as the primary sources of my thesis research. I've thought for years that someone who has lived an extraordinary life should document it, even though they may not think the life they've led is anything special. You never know when someone, somewhere in the future, be it a distant relative, or a curious student, will want to know what life was like for you. Seemingly boring, everyday details can be something intriguing, even vital to a historian's research, or simply interesting to future generations of your family.

He left me here with a long goodbye kiss, and a broken heart.

I've finally learned this lesson with such pain, and quite a bit of regret. I began to realize how important writing about your experiences is while reading The Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk here in Tbilisi. Those of you who know me, know I don't read much. I reluctantly would try to do reading for my classes, but often would just skim through the books and hunt down a good synopsis. However, this book I read more intensely and quickly than any of the Harry Potter books... I can't even remember the last time I ACTUALLY finished a book. (I apologize to any of my professors who may stumble upon this entry and realize that I was a total sham.) Anyway, this novel takes place in Istanbul. A lot of the content is incredibly relate-able to my experiences there, since some things haven't changed, even 40 years after the beginning of the story takes place. Memories came rushing back to me not just of my experiences in Istanbul, but of other moments all along my journey since I left as well. Many of the settings are places I frequented, which made me nostalgic for those streets, the humid heat, the smell, the sounds of Istanbul - what's more? It makes me nostalgic for the love I found there. (I know, the L word... it's a big one, right? You're intrigued to know more now, aren't you? Well, tough. You'll have to wait...) That love opened up a door to a completely different part of life that I hadn't been experiencing before. A door that was opened at precisely the right moment, in the most enchanting setting I could imagine. I couldn't have dreamd of, or written a better scenario than the one that played out on its own.

It gave me a case of the feels. I literally fell asleep with it every night. 

Anyway, now that those feelings - which were so strong immediately afterwards, that I never thought they would leave, and actually wished I could rid myself of - have faded, I wish I had something more substantial I could look back on. I know that I have to live in the moment, but sometimes, much like our narrator in this book, I wish I had something to conjure up those feelings of love, and magic, to comfort me when I need it. I wish I had descriptions to go along with all of my photos and videos to try to describe what all of my other senses were experiencing. Especially as I experienced the grandeur of Istanbul (and some other places) for the first time, and again for the first few weeks of my return, I wish I had documented those sensations better. In addition, I wish I had documented the intrigue accompanying each person I met, particularly the ones that would later go on to become large parts of my life. I wish I had written down every detail of our time together. Not just with my love in Istanbul, but also the friends and loves I've been lead to since.

Here I doomed our happiness.

One of the most beautiful things about this book - it's inspired me to go back and try to write down everything I can remember about those loves. Not to look back on in agony over how short lived they were, or to relive the details, but because they affected how I experienced the city. Some places in Istanbul drew me to them, leading me to reminisce and smile, while others I began to avoid, so as not to awaken the pain resting within me from a love lost. Places that I simply spent time in with no true intention, or even desire to be there, became extraordinary because of the company kept... doesn't each fantastic experience deserve to be preserved? Just as some people bring home souvenirs from traveling to remind them of where they've been and their experiences there, I've begun collecting places. Certain cafes, or street corners where life was simply perfect, even if only for a brief moment.

In the book, our narrator describes the happiest moment of his life, and that, sadly, has a negative connotation. It means that the rest of his life could not possibly be better. That moment is gone, in the past, and everything was only downhill from there. In a sense, I have to agree with him. I don't have a definitive happiest moment in my life yet, so there's hope that I still have yet to experience that quintessential happiest moment. However, sometimes, if you realize in a moment of happiness, just how incredibly happy you are - that's the end of the happiness. Whether its because you suddenly fear that happiness can't be genuine, or the possibility of losing that happiness, it has become doomed. Don't think about how happy you are. I know it can be tough, especially when it's an overwhelmingly happy moment. Just be happy.

The Munich wintertime skating rink - one of the places where life was simply perfect, even if only for a little while.

So here's my advice:

An amazing site to come across the night we met.

Take the time to write, maybe a little before you go to bed, or when you wake up in the morning... what is the day like? Sunny? Cold? Hot? Dry? What smells and sounds make this place unique? Trivial, seemingly mundane, things will help complete the overall description of your experience, as well as accent the more monumental moments. Sensory memory can be a wonderful thing. Some day, you may smell or taste something that sends you back to that time, but it's even better if you can distinguish just which place and time it brought you back to. I've heard from people who have traveled extensively that in some places, everything just starts to blend together - you can't really distinguish where that memory took place. It's something I've begun to fear will happen to me one day, something I fear has already begun because I haven't adequately documented my experiences.

Take the time to type a private blog, jot down notes about something interesting or special about how your day has gone, hold on to little pamphlets or wrappers and make a scrapbook later with a description of what made that so special, or straight up journal about your travels. It's even cathartic to physically write down the little or private things that you don't want, or think the public will want to read. It's good for you to get these thoughts out somewhere, even if no one ever reads it.


Think about what you've done in your life, and what's going on in the world around you. No other person is leading your life. No other person will. Especially if you travel. You want to capture the fascination and excitement of your trips, so one day someone (even you, yourself) can look back on them, and appreciate all that you experienced. Think about it. Fifty years from now, wouldn't it be nice to read about that fateful day in some far off place, when you met the greatest love you've ever had? How the air smelled and felt? How their eyes mesmerized you from the moment you met? How you just wanted to be close. How butterflies fluttered in your stomach when your hands accidentally brushed up against each other as you walked down the street - that spectacular moment when your hands sought each other out, latching on and lacing fingers without any reason, as if they were magnets drawn together out of natural force? Don't you want to remember the things you learned about yourself? How each love left you more confident and helped you realize something more about what you want, nay, what you deserve, in a relationship? It's so easy to back track and think that someone is fantastic and treats you well in the next relationship, when you've completely forgotten what you loved about your previous relationships. This advice goes for places as well as people. Months after returning or moving on from a place, you may not remember it as it truly was. You may gloss over the negative aspects of a place and remember it as being more enjoyable than it was, then if you return there, be disappointed. The contrary can happen as well. You may look back on these writings and realize that a place was even better than you recalled.

He looks proud, right? Such a lovely grandchild to have!

Writing will give yourself, and people who care about you a better record of who you were, and of everything that contributed to the person you became. You never know if you're going to have a niece, nephew, grandchild, or great grandchild who is absolutely fascinated by you, because you are part of them. They may like to know what led you to become the person they one day knew, or who their parents knew. They may be a little too young, or too shy to try to ask you directly, but if one day they have something you wrote to read and learn a little more about you, I'm sure they'll appreciate it. Like I said before, you are part of them. Which brings me to part of the reason why this post is a week later than I had intended to publish it - I want dedicate it to one such person in my life. The first man in my life - my grandpa. I hope I made him proud with my adventures, even though they kept me away from him for a lot longer than I had intended, and prevented me from being there in person to celebrate his life with the rest of our family. I still love learning more about what made him the man I knew, the man I love, the man who will always be a part of me. Тебя люблю навсегда.

One of those farewells you sense is going to be your last, but hope with all your might it won't. Unfortunately it was.