I vividly remember sitting on a picnic table somewhere on the coast of northern California. I was talking on the phone, and I was saying something to the effect of, I’ve left everything behind. I don’t know who I am anymore.
I can see the sun glinting off the vast expanse of the Pacific, and the grass, and the orange-brown of the picnic table. There were people there, a family with two sons, on vacation. A quaint notion to me now. Vacation.
And I find it a testament to what’s happened between then and now that I’m sitting on another coast, the Atlantic, this time, on another boat, getting ready to take off. The future feels exactly as unknown as it did that December day in California. There’s a world of difference between then and now, but I’m still not sure who I am.