Those teenage jitters at 34

Do you remember when you were in junior high school and had an undeniable crush on a boy? The very sight of him would set a fresh set of butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks would turn a metaphorical shade of pink no matter the color of your skin, and it would be so difficult to make eye contact with him. Well, I’m 34, a full time vagabond traveling across the world, and here I am blushing at the sight of a tall, lanky, curly haired cutie in the south of Japan. 

I can’t pinpoint when and why these feelings started, but we could talk about anything: books, ambitions, our deepest darkest fears, or which animal made a cuter pet: hamsters or dogs. We had our own banter that the others around us couldn’t understand and loud tear inducing belly laughs over the smallest, goofiest jokes. In a very short time, we were able to be so vulnerable with each other and sitting in silence, simply sharing space became fulfilling. This was balanced with long, chilly early winter walks by the Murasaki river where we talked about books, music, our childhoods growing up in different countries, our relationships with our families, and how we would spend our last day alive. 

We didn’t have to ask each other for things or favors. He started calling up information desks searching for English speaking hospitals when I casually mentioned to another friend that I had to go to the doctor for a check up and came with me to my appointments. I knew he would give up his slice of cake to make sure everyone ate, so I walked up to him in the kitchen and fed him half of my slice. We didn’t need words between us to show that we cared about each other.

I know I may never see him again in my life. It doesn’t make me sad. I feel an overwhelming amount of gratitude to have known him. We never even kissed, but that seemed unnecessary. The joy and grief of letting go have become an innate part of this vagabond way of living. Some stories are best left short and sweet. My hand shivers as I write this. It feels strangely beautiful to experience these teenage jitters again. 

And did I mention, we barely speak the same language.