I recently drove a friend to her out-of-state college, and it occurred to me, as I was throwing a fuzzy green blanket and change of clothes into my car: I love this shit.
It stuck with me, a friendly little voice in the back of my head, as we chattered and navigated snowy roads and stayed up too late dreaming up Doctor-Who-themed cupcakes: I love this shit.
It was still there as I drove back alone, blown about the roads and getting increasingly cold because my little car’s heater couldn’t quite keep up with the windchill: I love this shit.
And when I got home and sat wrapped in a blanket, gushing excitedly over cupcake plans with my love and a cup of tea, there was a steady pulse of “I love this shit” humming beneath every word we utter.
Weirdly, I don’t think I really fit into the explorer “type”: I’m shy and nervous and I don’t trust as easily as I’d like, and sometimes I wonder at how I got here and if I’ll ever experience stability or certainty again. The thought sits like a stone in my stomach, making it hard to move, to breathe.
But then my love will talk to me about eating spaghetti in the desert and watching the stars, or I think of all that’s left to explore and the places and friends around the world that I’d love to see again… and I feel it settle into my bones, warm and comforting, but oddly light: I love this shit.
And no matter what comfort or stability I may find in the future--and no matter how relieved I may be to find it--I will always find some small slice of adventure, and I will never lose the little friendly whisper in the back of my mind.
I LOVE this shit.