When I returned back to Tulsa from Fredericksburg Monday late afternoon, I pulled into a snow covered driveway only to get a gigantic blast from my past. For sitting in the garage inside my parent's house was a damn near exact replica of the car I had driven from the day I turned 16 up until my early 20's. It is the car I love, dream about and wish I had never sold. It's my baby. And sitting there in the garage sits, what appears to be a brand new version of the exact Jeep I parted with several years ago. So WTF is it doing there.
Well that's the exact question I asked my father upon entering his home (including the expletive, which I'm not sure he enjoyed). After a long story about snow, being stranded, a guy named Jim and a conversation we had a couple weeks ago, I started to glaze over and realize what this felt like for me.
A bribe.
A bribe to stay in the US. Well, not stay, per say, but to come back soon. A piece of motivation to come back and spend some time with the family, start thinking seriously about life and get back to the work and progress I was making here. Dad wants to make sure that when I come back from my quarter-life crisis, I'll need a car to get me around, which I appreciate. I could think of a lot more glamorous things my dad could have bought to try and get me thinking about moving back here. At one point, my sister reminded me that my dad had actually offered to buy me a ranch with 20 horses on it in Kentucky as a bribe to move back from Spain last summer. But there's not a lot that could actually get me thinking about coming back.
However. This car. Is one of those things.
I love this car.
And the thinking started. The stipulation of the car belonging to me is that I move back to claim it within 2 years (roundabout). So, two years. That sounds like a long time, right? Wrong. I immediately started panicking. How am I going to see the whole world in 2 years? How am I going to live in Spain for 5 years and THEN see the whole world? My plans for life are falling apart before my eyes and I don't really know what to do. Maybe I'll be home in two years. Maybe that's not unrealistic. But the thought of it sort of spun me in a spiral.
I started thinking about all of those travel bloggers who blog about travel and dreaming of travel from the confines of a cubical. Am I destined to become one of them? Can I do anything to stop it?
It's just a car.
But it's not. In two years, I'll be 27. I know that's not old, but as I creep closer to the 30 mark still single and with no real plans for life, I wonder if I'm making a mistake? There are plenty who have gone before me. Veterans, if you will in the traveling, living, line of work. Old balls like Joel, Dave and Christine keep me going on a regular basis. But as Dave has recently taken a REAL LIVE desk job, I feel my invincibility starting to wear off.
For now, all I know is that I wish I could cram all of my lives together. I know that for me, right now, this would be my perfect life. If the entire state of Andalucia was appended to the side of Texas but a part of the US so everyone there still speaks Spanish and still retains their culture, but I get American grocery stores, Dr. Pepper and maybe even Taco Bueno. In addition, my horse would come over (along with all of my friends and family in Spain) and live with me. My jeep would come down from Tulsa and all of my friends and family from the US would be within driving distance. I would also like for it to only rain once a week, on Thursdays and preferably thunderstorm. I would like the temperature to remain a constant 80/60 for the whole year.
So… let's make it happen.
