What's Past is Prologue...

PRELUDE, PROLOGUE, OR

WHAT YOU WILL

I wrote a poem to describe the situation. It was aweful. So I won't post it...

I am writing this blog for...what purpose? I know not...

I have never had many readers of my work...that I know of. I have a sporadic sort of journal/artwork/general-book-thing-to-paste-randoms-scrappage-in...so i don't really need this as a diary...

I suppose I am merely following a trend.

I suppose I wish to be helpful. To write about my wanderings in hope that I may help future wanderers and explorers; like all of the wonderful people I have been following for the past 6 months or more online in their adventures around the world...


...or maybe I'm just vain. ...We'll see how long this lasts... :)


In any case: Here I am. My name is Genevieve. I am leaving the United States and going to Europe for the next 6 months to a year to 2 years to...I don't know. I would say I would wish to wander forever, one adventure flowing smack-dash into the next in a continual wash-cycle tumble of sorts...but I have never before traveled like this...or much at all (though the yearning, the continual saring out windows and feeling the pull, and the whispering in my mind, on nights with no sleep, when I suddenly turn to the door and open it, saying ...go... has been with me as long as I have a memory, and that is long. The only problem, or opportunity I am facing now is that the more places I read about, the more I wish to know, see, experience.

I have never been the sort of person who just wanted to "see" something. Those people who come back after a weeks vacation and desribe how that jetted from Prague to Rome to London and Paris, managed to squeeze in every possible tourist infested attraction in 12hours, and still had time for dinner make me feel vomitous. My skin crawls. And I just want to say...why? But what did you really see? And at the moment 1 of my 3 jobs is working in a travel consolidator call center. Postcard tourist-travelers abound.

...BUT FIRST, A JOURNEY...

So. Here I am. I am here. Why am I where I am? Why am I going? Well. I had a birthday in January. I had my birthday, and the entire week surrounding it was...well. Let's just say it reeked of self-pity, self-loathing, frustration, and all-around "what the hell am I doing here, being alive?!" Needless to say, I couldn't stand it. I had the perfect job. I had the perfect house. I had a loving boyfriend, family, and many, many friends...(the fact that all these relationships were a bit strained was mostly due to my ever-increasing hermit-like quality, and an overwhelming case of selfishness that I had been slowly watering, and feeding, though not doing much in the way of pruning, though I did not want to admit it,).

The morning that things were lowest, in desperation, I suddenly shouted: I just want to go away! Why can't I just leave?!" ...and in that moment, I realised I could. I had always wanted to wander - I am a great reader of adventure novels, you see; my favorite book of all is the Count of Monte Cristo - and I had or my parents had or my friends had talked me out of these so called adventures more than once, til I had all but smothered the yearning, because it was too expensive, too dangerous, too...whatever...(there are always 100 'good' reasons why we do not have the things we want the most; but I think they all lead back to fear). But I am not afraid of sleeping outside in the forest or the city, I am not afraid of 'street people' - God, how offensive - or robbers or men, or or going for a few days without food. I AM afraid of bugs, though we have come to respect one another, and I am sure it is a mutual fear, so I suppose we must get to know each other better on this road). I am not even afraid of dying or death - and when I realized that, I KNEW I could go. Because, you see, to stay here in this moment would be to die a thousand times over: to be devoid of life. So go I must, and go I shall. I do not say that I am totally without all fear, but as my Mother loves to quote to her students,

"Courage is the willingness to be afraid...and act anyway."

So here I am. With a ticket to London. A backpack, a tent, a penny whistle, and a sketchbook-journal for company. Here I am. Now take me to the world...