I think I’ll go to Boston

A brisk autumn air envelops the atmosphere here, and though Bean town experiences all four seasons I suspect that it feels like eternal autumn. Influenced by pockets of academia, Boston vividly lives up to the historical essence of the city. As the launch for my adventure, this place is full of the perfect blend of familiarity and unknown. Then it is truly an icing on the cake that the lyrics to Boston by Augustana are spot on… “I think I’ll go to Boston, I think I’ll start a new life, I think I’ll start over, where no one knows my name”. Hence, we were unintentionally serenaded a lot by early 2000’s moody rock during the few days that I was there.

I was excited to experience this place, but more importantly, I was excited to see a person. I reveled in the admiration of a friend who seems to have life somewhat figured out. My dear friend Molly has a big kid job, in a big kid office living in a big kid apartment. Her current vocation is one that aids in teaching students about American civics. So not only is she making a living but she is contributing to making the world a better place through interactive games and graphics. Talk about uncovering a purpose fresh out of school!

We walked around much of Boston, ate delicious clam chowder and felt the sun on our skin next to the brilliant blue river. The black coffee flowed through my veins, caffeinated as I explored the city, thinking about my impending adventure. Wondering if I am too ambitious in my dreams and executing them, or if I’m making a grave mistake or if this will be the greatest adventure of my life and curious what will be written about this next chapter.

But during this page of the chapter we experienced a Boston Book Festival event. It was a book lovers heaven, with authors giving talks about their written work. We heard true stories of biking in Italy, a CIA coverup and sea people, vulnerable to the changing climate. At night there was a poetry reading, with free beer and pretzels. The passion and creativity to turn words into a work of art still astounds me. Each poet’s life experience formed the content and the style of their poetry, and I think that translates beyond art forms, but also into work and life.

Each life’s story is utterly unique, and while within the middle of the story it is hard to know which direction is the right one to choose. But there are the signs that indicate to me that I am on the right path on this journey. For, when I took an Uber to Molly’s apartment the driver enthusiastically handed me cards of his blog and showed me his journal that riders in his car have shared everything from recipes to jokes to a simple “I was here”. When I was in the airport awaiting the flight to Lisbon I sat next to two lovely Irish women who instilled their faith in me to make it work in their home country and we parted ways with a hug.

As the red brick buildings line the streets of Boston and the fond newly formed memories in an Ireland away from Ireland. As the launch for this journey I am grateful for my time spent walking, dancing, talking, seeing, exploring (and more). Verbs that will certainly be enacted over this next year and beyond.