Give me a f*cking break...
That's all I could think as I lay sprawled on the pavement, my knee bleeding and my heel hanging off my foot after tumbling down a cobblestone hill in Porto.
I had been traveling solo for weeks, drinking a bottle of vino verde a day like it was my daily multi-vitamin, wandering through cobblestone alleys, sailing into sunsets, and embracing the freedom that comes with being untethered.
Fresh off my unexpected and empowering—ahem—”re-awakening” with Pepe in Lisbon, I was starting to feel like the version of myself I knew I always had within me.
But lurking beneath the surface of my carefree adventures were the weighty decisions awaiting my return home.
As I collected myself and hobbled the final blocks to my hotel, barefoot, bleeding, and still a liiiiiittle bit tipsy, I couldn't help but feel the metaphor for the bruises and scars accumulated on my journey thus far.
Despite the outward signs of success, I found myself grappling with a profound sense of unease. For the first time in what felt like forever, I dared to confront the truth lurking in the shadows of my mind.
"Is this it?" I asked myself, the words heavy in the air like a thundercloud on a sunny day.
"Is this the life I've worked so hard to create? Is this the truest expression of who I am?"
And with a resounding "fuck no," the truth hit me like a ton of bricks as I sank into the couch in the hotel lobby.
I knew I had more work to do, even after years of self-work and fighting through every last bit of resistance.
But amidst the chaos of uncertainty, there was a glimmer—a knowing that even in my swirl of disarray, I held the power to rewrite my story.
In many ways, my story is just beginning. With Felipe only a couple years away from graduating high school, soon I'll have the freedom to go anywhere, do anything—a prospect that's as liberating as it is daunting. Meanwhile, my business is at a crossroads. Although we've finally found some stability after a tumultuous ride of highs and lows, the vision I have for my company—and for myself—still lies far on the horizon. Most of my life feels like a question mark.
In that moment of reckoning, a familiar face appeared.
The gorgeous Brazilian, who I had been casually talking to in passing over the past week here in Porto, noticed the dried blood and dirt on my leg. Without a word, he dropped to his knee to examine the damage. I nervously explained my stupidity, and he disappeared, returning with a first aid kit.
He knelt once more, carefully attending to my wound and cleaning my leg. It was nice to be taken care of with assertion, without asking, nurtured without expectation.
With a final rub of my leg, he looked up at me, piercing me with his concern and asked, "Are you okay?"
"No," I replied, the honesty ringing clear in my voice. "But I will be."
"Good," as he stands up, smiles, and extends his hand to me. "Let's get you another drink, then."
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