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It’s been a bit since I’ve done an updated post. I still need to write more specifically about all of my travels, but I’ve been busy. A lot has changed, to say the least. I’ve officially finished my summer of travels, and that last trip somehow brought everything together. It was my last concert of the year, the one I had been looking forward to the most, and my only solo concert journey this year. This one meant the most to me. I drove all the way to Massachusetts and attended two concerts, the same artist on two different nights. There was a lot of stress going into it: parking, traffic, exhaustion, all the usual things that come with driving that far by yourself. And yet, I enjoyed every second of it.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when I was packing up my things, that I suddenly started crying. No apparent reason. I guess I was so exhausted from the night before that everything was finally catching up with me. And the crying didn't stop there. Crossing the border out of Massachusetts, crying. Driving through the hills of New York, crying. Again, everything was hitting me all at once. My summer journey started in Massachusetts, and here I was finishing it in the exact same place.

But it wasn't just the summer that was coming full circle. It was the last year of my life. A year ago, I was fleeing to Florida to escape my family, only to reluctantly return because I ran out of money. Then came the massive depressive episode at the beginning of the year, another family fight, being driven further into that depression, and then jumping from job to job while still feeling depressed and disconnected from everything around me. And then came my summer of fun. Somewhere along the way, I rediscovered myself. I remembered what fun felt like. I remembered the importance of friendship and self-care, even if that meant going into more debt than I probably should have. The trips were the only thing getting me through for a while. In a sense, every trip taught me something about what it meant to live again.

Trip One: Boston

My first trip was Boston with my friend. It was the first trip I had ever taken with a friend, and it happened at exactly the time I needed it. I had been going through the motions of life. Wake up, go to work, come home, sleep, repeat. And then I went to Boston. My friend reminded me what life was. Not in some dramatic, life-changing-movie kind of way, but simply by living. We explored, we laughed, we went to a concert, and we spent time together. For a little while I wasn't thinking about everything that was wrong with my life. I was just living it.

I was also able to open up to my friend in a way that I hadn't been able to in a while. I told them things I hadn't really told anyone else, and somehow it felt easier than I expected. Lesson learned: Remind myself what living is about.

Of course, once I came home, reality was waiting. After that trip, I went through a small crisis. Going to work made my anxiety flare up in a way I had never experienced before. The amount of dread and the feeling of wanting to flee made me want to crawl out of my own skin. The weight in my chest felt suffocating. And when I tried to find some sort of solace in my family, I was met with the same response I usually get: “Suck it up.” Unfortunately, that's become a common response from them, and that usually sends me into another small depression dive. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. It felt like one trip had completely thrown my world off, and the only way I knew how to survive was to disconnect my life even further. Work life and home life became two completely separate worlds. At that point, I was almost two different people.

Trip Two: London

Then came London. I wish I could say this trip was as life-changing as the previous one. In a way, it was. Just not in the way I expected. I think this was where I really started prioritizing my own happiness instead of constantly folding for everyone else. That's difficult for me because I am very much a people pleaser.

On the first day in London, we were hitting all of the major monuments. Very early on, I realized that my sister, and by association her boyfriend, were going to be running the show. No surprise there. If my sister doesn't get her way, it affects the entire mood, and then the entire trip. My mother also tends to side with my sister, even though she says that “we” have a special bond. I don't think so. I think I just have a problem with boundaries.

Pretty quickly, I found myself exploring the city by myself. We mostly wanted to see the same things, but I tend to move faster. I also wanted to see some things that they weren't interested in. I didn't force anyone to come with me. I told them what I wanted to do and what I was planning to do, and I was perfectly fine going by myself. Apparently, they weren't. They were mad that I went to different places.

Day two was the concert, which went great. The heat was awful, but that's besides the point. Then came day three. We were exploring again, and there was a small snafu when I had a medical problem and had to return to the hotel for supplies. But before that, there had already been a disagreement about which bridge we were going to cross. I wanted to take London Bridge. They wanted to take Tower Bridge. I was perfectly fine going by myself, but they weren't. Eventually, my mother and I went back to the hotel and then to Borough Market, where we were supposed to meet up with everyone else. We never did. We explored the market ourselves and eventually went back to the hotel while they went to the British Museum.

Then came dinner. Throughout the entire trip, and even before we left, I had repeatedly said that there was one thing I really wanted to do. I wanted to go to a Korean restaurant in Soho. No one had explicitly disagreed with me, but no one had really said yes either. So when we started figuring out dinner, I said, “I'm going to this restaurant.” Knowing my sister, I could immediately tell she didn't want to go. I later found out that her boyfriend really wanted Indian food.

I do want to make something clear here. I don't hate my sister or her boyfriend. Her boyfriend is actually a really good guy. He just lacks some social cues. My sister is more complicated. I don't think she intentionally puts herself ahead of everyone else. I think she simply lacks a certain understanding of empathy, almost like she never had the opportunity to learn it properly. My mother, not wanting to upset my sister, eventually said she didn't want to go either.

I was hurt, but this was the one thing I wanted to do. So I took the Tube and went to the Korean restaurant. I sat there thinking about how I had imagined this entire dinner. I had planned on ordering all kinds of food so everyone could try different things. I had pictured us sitting around the table, sharing everything and trying new dishes together. Instead, I was sitting there alone, looking around at everyone else, either with friends or significant others. And honestly, I was still happy I went. Lesson learned: Create your own happiness. Don't constantly fold for everyone else around you.

Thankfully, I didn't have as much of a mid-life crisis afterward as I did the last time.

Trip Three: Boston, Again

Then came trip three, back to Boston. I was supposed to go by myself, but my mother decided to drive with me. It was a quick trip, only two days. I wasn't particularly looking forward to spending the drive with my mother, but it wasn't horrible. Then again, it wasn't great either. It was typical. Lesson learned: Nothing I do will ever be right in my mother's eyes. Logic or not, she will always be correct, even when I have indisputable evidence.

And then came my most recent trip.

The Last Trip

Back to Massachusetts. Just me. No expectations, no disappointments. After all the excitement and emotion from the concerts, the only thing left was the drive home. With my emotions already high and everything I had been reminiscing about, I knew it was going to be an important drive.

I tried not to call my mother for as long as possible because I knew she was probably going to kill the moment. The night before, after the concert, I called her to let her know that I had made it back safely. I said something along the lines of, “It's going to be an emotional couple of days.” I had a feeling. Her response was to tell me to “suck it up” and that she didn't care. Sick of the lack of empathy, I told her that she lacked empathy and promptly hung up.

Either she didn't remember that I said it because she was tired, or it simply “didn't leave a lasting remark.” That's something I've learned about my mother. When something hurtful happens, she seems to forget it ever happened. If we have a fight one night, the next morning she acts like nothing happened. The hurtful things she said are suddenly nonexistent, even though I remember them perfectly.

At some point, I eventually called her. By this point, I had already gone through waves of emotions. I was rethinking everything, remembering the past year, and thinking about how much had changed. Let me spoil it: she could not have cared less. I tried talking about my feelings. I told her about randomly crying while driving through the mountains. I tried talking about how proud I was of myself and how much I felt like I had grown over the past year. She basically laughed it off, then started talking about herself. How horrible her day had been. How tired she was of doing tours for the wedding venue. How needy everyone was. And just like that, my moment was gone.

The phone call ended shortly after. I then called my sister. That conversation was better. My sister also lacks a certain amount of empathy, but she tries. That's just who she is, and I'm aware of it. I complained about our mother, and she agreed with me. She didn't necessarily understand my emotional wave, but she also didn't disagree with it or make me feel stupid for having it.

Then my mother called me back, so I decided to merge the two phone calls. That was a mistake.

My mother launched into a monologue about how she and my dad had just gotten into another fight. Not the first time. I don't even remember exactly what started this one, but the pattern is always similar. My dad feels like he's all by himself. They each have their own ways of doing things that they don't like about the other. My dad cries. My mother doesn't care. They both leave. And nothing gets resolved.

At one point my mother commented that there was “nothing more unattractive than seeing a man cry.” That's not the first time I've heard that. She also told us that she wanted to divorce my dad. Again, not the first time. More things were said, but eventually she finished talking and there was this awkward silence. So I responded with the best thing anyone could say.

“Cool.”

We quickly and awkwardly ended the call. I called my sister back, just the two of us. We talked about how our parents are more alike than either of them realize, how they both need therapists, how we think our mother has narcissistic tendencies, and how much we both hate the “men crying” comment. We also talked about how having a divorced couple running a wedding venue would probably be a pretty big turnoff.

And just like that, the emotional, proud moment I had been having was gone.

Sometime later, I had another phone call with my mother. She was talking about how she was already looking into apartments. If she actually went through with it, she would probably have to wait until January because that's when she gets her yearly money from her mother. Then she mentioned that there was a chance she could get a job as a secretary at the school where her principal friend works. For simplicity, let's call him Steve.

There's a whole backstory here. The job my mother had before the wedding venue was as a secretary for ten years. Steve was the principal there during her final year. I also worked there during that last semester. I was fired. Steve fired me and another person after we, and later two others, submitted formal complaints against him for multiple reasons. Of course, we were fired for something else, but everyone at that school knew what was really happening. Not long after, Steve had the choice to resign or be fired, he chose to resign. A choice I was not given. My mother quit shortly afterward.

During all of this, and for months before I started working there, my mother had developed a crush on Steve. She told me multiple times that she wished he would make a move. She was married to my dad, and she was telling me this as if I was supposed to agree with her.

That was a huge part of why I fled to Florida. My mother and I kept getting into fights over her wanting to have an affair with Steve. She turned part of my family against me and then gaslit me, insisting that she had never said any of the things she had said. I felt abandoned. I felt delusional. So I fled to Florida.

The ironic part is that after I moved back, during Christmas, I overheard her telling her sister that she still wanted to have an affair with Steve. The main reason my mother quit the school in the first place was because of rumors that they were having an affair. To this day, she's upset about those rumors. But can you really be upset about a rumor when you wanted it to happen?

Apparently, she's since “gotten over” him. That happened this past January. She's still friends with him, though, and he bartends at the venue. The first time I had to bartend with him, I almost had a panic attack. She couldn't understand why.

So when she started talking about possibly working with him again, I immediately started worrying about what would happen. If she took the job, the affair rumors would probably start again, and everything would become even more complicated. My dad knows about the rumors. He knows about their friendship. He never did anything about it.

And somehow, I was right back where I had been a year ago.

Not even six hours earlier, I had been driving through the mountains feeling proud of myself. I had been crying because I was happy. I was thinking about how far I'd come. And now I felt like all of that growth had disappeared.

But I Didn't Fall

After that phone call, the rest of the trip was spent overthinking, reminiscing, and free-falling through every possible thought. But I didn't fall into the darkness. Instead, I did what I do best.

I planned.

So now I have a new plan. I'm a believer that change is good. You shouldn't feel stuck in a plan just because you made it once, and you shouldn't keep doing something you don't enjoy simply because it's what you started with.

My long-term goal is still to become an event planner. That was always part of the plan, but now I'm actually working toward it. I'm currently working on two events that I want to host at the venue through a company I've created. I wish I didn't have to rely on the venue, but I also know that I need to take advantage of the opportunities I have available to me.

My mid-term goal? I'm a travel agent now. I'm working on posting, building the business, and hopefully booking my first vacation. I know it will take time. I just have to keep pushing through.

And my short-term goal? I want to sell baked goods. It's something I've always wanted to do but never actually have. It's a short-term goal because I need money now, but it also means building another social media page and putting another piece of myself out there.

I know I can do all of these things at the same time. I just don't want other people to see me trying.

That's the part that embarrasses me. If someone has three jobs, people see them as hardworking, ambitious, driven. But if someone is a travel agent, sells baked goods, plans events, and is constantly trying different things, I worry people will see me as someone who has no direction. Someone who is just trying random things. Someone without any bigger ambitions.

Maybe that's part of it. Maybe the short-term grind is just that: a grind. And maybe all of these little things are building toward the bigger goal. The move to Massachusetts. The event planning job. The big events. The life I've been imagining for myself.

Not because I want to shove it in anyone's face, but because I want to prove that they shouldn't have underestimated me.

Because I think people do underestimate me. I think I have big goals. They're just very niche goals. And they're going to take time, persistence, and probably a lot of weird little steps that don't make sense to everyone else.

Maybe that's okay.

As I pulled into the driveway, I felt something I hadn't felt much lately: hope.

Not the kind of hope that says everything is suddenly going to be okay. Not the kind that says Massachusetts will fix everything. Just the feeling that maybe, somehow, I'm still moving forward.

Lesson learned: If something is important to you, the people who truly love you will understand and support you. And if they don't, maybe they were never there for you in the way you needed them to be.

And maybe, for the first time in a while, I'm okay with moving forward without everyone coming with me.

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