To Greece (in time)
I lost my suitcase without leaving home.
Somehow it was gone—vanished from the closet, no longer under the bed, unseen from the loft. This in reality was not a big deal; my boyfriend has a duffle I can borrow. But in theory it whipped me like a sudden summit wind. I needed to put my belongings in my suitcase to make it to Greece.
Here I am now, at the airport, with the duffle (it is black), a glass of Chardonnay, and a book called Everything Beautiful Began After by Simon Van Booy. The tails of airplanes are to my right, right outside the window. The glass tastes like soap so I order another, though I barely sipped the first.
I bought the book because it's based in Athens. The first sentence (what I cherish) states: "For those who are lost, there will always be cities that feel like home." It continues, a few lines down: "Athens has long been a place where lonely people go."
I am not one of those people. I am anti-lonely. I am headed to Greece with my best friend to celebrate her upcoming marriage and my 30th lap around the sun. I've just said goodbye to my boyfriend who I will miss endlessly—a missing I am so lucky to experience. My life is full in so many ways—an antidote to lonely.
But one place that feels barren is my writing. Another line from this book reads "Her dream was to become an artist—to be loved for moments beyond her life."
We're going to Greece to write. To paint. To see and experience and do, but to also stop. And just be.
Maybe I will finally start the etches of my art—my book—so I can be loved for moments beyond my life, my name permanently printed on endless paperback copies, wedged in strangers' bookshelves.
(I do not know if that's my true motive to write, but in this moment it feels correct.)
My hope is to write about our trip here, so keep checking back for new entries! Until then, it's a quick pit-stop in New York City from Denver, a flight to Athens, a ferry to Santorini, and hopefully a lot of bread + olive oil.