I’m getting ready to head out on my first intercontinental flight in about 15 years later in the week, so I’d better get some personal writing done now and avoid having to think about it later. While I’m looking forward to the trip, the various mental tangents around getting adequately prepared for this experience have dominated my headspace for pretty much the entire month. All the many considerations, from online shopping to packing lists to itineraries to travel restrictions, among countless other minute details, have pingponged back and forth inside my skull for so long that I’ve begun to forget what I’d normally be doing with my free time.
While it’s true that I’ve gotten some creative work done in February 2026, I look up at the calendar on my pinboard and see very few red X marks compared to the previous month. The past few days have been decidedly more upbeat as I reach some finality in my preparations and ramp myself up for this journey, but as I examine the week and a half prior to this period, I see considerably more downward arrows than would be ideal. My erratic sleep habits have persisted on throughout this month, the effects of which have slowly crept into all facets of my state of mind. I haven’t partaken in any consumable vices for several weeks and I’ve been maintaining a pretty strict schedule of intermittent fasting and exercise throughout the same period of time. Outside of a five to ten percent increase in mental clarity on a good day, the only other noticeable effect ranging between positive and neutral that I can point to during this admittedly short-term behavioral adjustment is that my dreams have been somewhat more vivid and memorable.
A core theme that has woven through my dreams as of late has been getting together to break bread with the ghosts of my past. These ghosts haven’t actually passed on; they are presumably still living, breathing people who exist in the world—at least, as far as I’ve been made aware. Old friends, roommates, competitors, distant family members, people I once held some kind of connection to, they all might as well be ghosts to me now. I converse with them in my sleep with the kind of geniality that would suggest it hasn't actually been more than a decade since I’ve been around them. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to these occurrences, at least on the surface, so what am I to make of this?
Admitting that you’re depressed or lonely takes a kind of strength that isn’t easy to discover inside yourself when you're feeling particularly vulnerable. For me, getting high was always an escape from facing that fundamental truth. It was a salve for boredom, a post-hoc justification for antisocial behavior, a numbing agent for the deep scars of failure. The life that I’ve got now was molded by the experience of running away from the life that could’ve been. I always had personal limitations that kept me from venturing down that idealized path toward self-actualization we’re all programmed to fetishize amid this individualist culture of self-improvement and grind, but I still can’t run from the knowledge that I could’ve tried harder if I really wanted to.
At the same time, we could peer into another version of our lives and find out that, even under circumstances more closely aligned with what we’d define as personal success, we’re still unhappy. It’s possible that many paths lead to the same destination. I was aware of this back then, even if I couldn’t put it into these same words.
Packing light for a trip forces you to narrow down what's actually essential for your wellbeing. I don't need that extra sweater or pair of pants in the same way I shouldn't cling to outdated mental frameworks that have governed my behavior for so long. While there's always something extra that would provide some additional comfort or familiarity, it's quite liberating to free that weight from your back and venture out with more of a spring in your step.
I didn’t want to go down a path that would cause me to lose all connection with the kinds of people who once filled my life with meaning each in their own small way, but by and large, it happened. I made a choice to abandon life in a more densely populated area and move to a small town, surrounding myself with people I don’t relate to so I could be with the person I love. I don’t regret that one bit. She provides me with more meaning than any of the ghosts ever did. We’ve experienced our share of struggles and incompatibilities, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything else at this point. I’ll miss her when I’m gone on my trip, but when I get back, it will be like nothing changed. When that day comes, it’ll be up to me to put the spirits to rest for good and find something new to take their place.