“Honestly, I think it’s a good idea.”

My best friend was looking at me with concern in his eyes, a laptop with a one way ticket to Japan open between us. The slow, cautious way in which he said the words made me feel delicate, unbalanced – like a precariously placed glass on the edge of a table and he was holding his breath waiting for the inevitable fall. A small, paranoid part of me wondered if he’d heard me crying earlier. I knew he’d been at work and logically there was no way that sound could travel that far, but lately I’d had the sneaking suspicion that everyone I talked to could see and hear every moment of my private grief the second they looked into my face. 

It was the photos that had broken through the fragile barrier I’d built around myself. I knew that they were sent with kindness – an attempt to make me feel included since I couldn’t attend the funeral – but as I scrolled through photo after photo of our friends celebrating her life together, surrounded by sunflowers and wearing matching bracelets, a part of me snapped. 

A sound I didn’t recognize tore from my throat—half scream, half sob—and suddenly I was on the floor. Knees pressed against the cold tile, body shaking, I wept so hard my stomach cramped. I sobbed for everything I’d lost and everything I hadn’t realized I’d been holding back. I managed to pick myself up with just enough time to wash my face and reapply my makeup before I heard the sound of my best friend’s car pulling into the driveway.

“Look, you’ve been crying every day for over a month now,” he said gently. “You’re not eating, you’ve lost weight. Honestly, I’m worried about you. Maybe…maybe getting away for a little while is what you need to finally get over it?” 

His words sent a ripple through my insides. Finally get over it? She’d only been dead a week. Despite the callous sound of his words I knew what he meant. He meant the break up, the illness, and the death. All of it. I’d been in a constant state of falling apart for nearly two months and there was only so much sustained sadness a person could take. 

There was only so much other people could be expected to carry you through.

It all started when the person I was in love with broke up with me out of nowhere. It turned out that he’d been lying for sometime, pretending things were fine in order to ride out the end of our lease with as little drama as possible. He’d even gone along with looking for a new apartment together and planning a vacation for the summer to keep up the charade that everything was ok.

That morning we played volleyball with our friends, went grocery shopping, made plans to tour apartments the next weekend, and even prepared meals for the week. We started a new television show and as we lay wrapped around each other on the couch I kept repeating silently in my head, “you’re so lucky, you’re so lucky, you’re so lucky.” All I’d wanted for so long was to feel safe after so many things in my life had fallen apart.  

But as the day wound down and we finally started planning the vacation we’d been talking about for months, he stopped me and asked if I wanted to go on a walk. It was then that he revealed that the last few months, if not longer, had been a lie. He never intended to sign a new lease. He never intended to go on a trip. He never wanted a future with me, it was just easier to pretend then deal with a break up mid-lease.

The ground beneath my feet shifted and everything felt like it was spinning. My world had become a funhouse mirror version of itself and every memory of the last two years warped into something strange and discordant as I looked for clues to our relationship’s inevitable demise. How long had he known? How long had he let me tell him how much I loved him all the while knowing he didn’t feel the same?

I moved out that afternoon with as many belongings as I could carry and began bouncing around from place to place, staying on couches and with any friend that would have me. I felt lost, confused, and angry.

Two weeks later, tragedy struck. Our third roommate and a close person in my now ex’s life got ill suddenly and a few weeks later passed away. Over the past two years she and I had grown close ourselves, becoming friends and confidants through the ups and downs of my relationship and the fear she felt over an ongoing health condition. Although we didn’t always see eye to eye, we loved and supported each other and her loss felt overwhelming. The pain, surreal. 

My ex hadn’t spoken to me about what was happening and I’d found out about the illness and hospitalization from a mutual friend. I worried that if I inserted myself into the situation, even to say goodbye, I’d simply complicate an already excruciatingly painful experience. So on the day of her funeral I took myself out to eat her favorite food, bought a bouquet of flowers, and wrote her a letter to say goodbye.

Throughout this time I talked to everyone I knew about just taking off and traveling the world. Sometimes it felt like a manic dream I’d latched onto just to keep myself going, but now I needed it to be a reality. Maybe if I left I could get some perspective, some objectivity to contextualize the chaos that I’d been living through. Maybe I could heal and on the way to healing become someone different, someone that could handle the memories and the grief in a way that wasn’t so debilitating. Maybe, at the very least, I could cry somewhere new.

Which is how I found myself standing in my best friend’s kitchen with an open laptop and a one way ticket to Japan glowing on the screen. 

I took a deep breath. I clicked “Purchase”.

That was 14 months, 5 continents, 18 countries, and countless cities ago. I’ll be honest, back then I didn’t actually think I’d make it to a full year. It was just a dream to hang onto. A wild escape-hatch to get to the other side of my pain. 

But here I am, over a year later, in an Airbnb in Zadar, Croatia trying to remember the craziest and most beautiful year of my life. I’ve had incredible experiences; met some of the kindest, most beautiful people; shared my grief with others who were grieving; and shared adventures and tears and existential questions along with culture, laughter, dancing, and food.

I rode in a hot air balloon over the City of the Gods in Mexico City and attended Day of the Dead in Oaxaca. I rode on the back of an open truck through misting rain in the mountains of Guatemala, went paragliding in Colombia, and climbed Machu Picchu in Peru. I tried surfing for the first time, rode dunebuggies and camels in the desert, and visited Rapa Nui (Easter Island) on a whim. I saw the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen reflected perfectly back at me from the sparkling waters of the Salt Flats in Uyuni, Bolivia. I sat overlooking the vast expanse of Patagonia and as the wind whipped my hair and tears welled in my eyes I thought about how big and beautiful the world could be and how lucky I was to experience the bittersweet joy of it – both the happiness and the pain. 

Yes, there have been hard days and tough moments (and quite a few bouts of food poisoning), but there have also been moments of healing and growth and utter bliss. There have been so many days when I’ve woken up and thought “you’re so lucky, you’re so lucky, you’re so lucky.” 

And maybe that’s what this journey was meant to teach me—how to carry the beauty and the sorrow together. That you never get to the other side of pain and grief, instead you learn to carry it with you along with happiness, adventure, joy, and love.