Part Two

“When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it,” the old king had said.

- The Alchemist

Stateside

I’ve been in a horrible funk. After all that’s happened, I cannot believe where we are. When we touched down, I felt so many emotions at once. Today is April 8. There would have been just five more days of quarantine remaining. If only I had stayed with the original plan.

Of course, though. Of course, I forgot to update the form, an error Immigration caught. Of course, we would make it all that way, to the last point before we’re home free. Of course, I would forfeit seeing my man again in a couple of weeks for the chance of a shorter quarantine with my five-month-old daughter. Of course, it blows up in my face. Why is this happening? Why does getting back to Rhett introduce such challenges?

I’m such an idiot. I know I can’t do anything to undo this and make it right, but my mind can’t stop thinking about each mistake that led me here. If I could go back, how far back would I go? Is either mistake more foolish than another? I try living by the “no regrets” principle, but I have several this time.

What if I didn’t go in search of “joy and meaning” in the mountains of Thailand? What if I never met that shaman friend who talked about toxic devices in the woman’s body? Wasn’t I supposed to be the cool, traveling aunt who writes about wild, unforgettable experiences? When did I stop dreaming my dream? Why didn’t I let someone talk me out of removing my birth control?

Being back in the States, under these wild circumstances and ridiculous conditions, is crippling all the confidence, hope, and optimism I had remaining. I’m not thinking clearly.

I haven’t been able to journal a single thought since Apple and I left for Thailand. I can’t seem to wake up from this bad dream. Replays of my most recent Bangkok encounters are haunting me.

I should have just told the truth. What if I told him the truth? Why did I change the form? How could I forget to update an official government document?

I’m embarrassed. I’m disappointed. I’m sad. I’m tired. I’m so tired. Mentally exhausted, physically drained, emotionally wired–all these happening simultaneously.

I wonder why I keep fighting to get this family together. Why is this so important to me?

The obstacles have been many. Who knew this pandemic virus thing would affect the entire world as it has? If this bat-air-flu-like-respiratory disease didn’t drop a bomb on every person on this earth, would I even be a mother right now?

It’s hard to maintain stamina in faith when going in one direction feels like an impossible mission. Metaphorically, I’m pushing a boulder uphill wearing only socks. Why the struggle?

I started believing if anything was worth it, the stars would align. Not superficially, but in the sense that if something is too hard, maybe it’s not supposed to happen. For over a year, my dreams have been of reuniting with my love. For him to meet his daughter and for us to be a family has been my heart’s desire and driving motivation. Every step closer I get, there’s a new obstacle plopping itself onto the scene, testing me.

What if reuniting with Rhett isn’t the silver lining we’ve imagined? What if there still isn’t any relief in parenting? He’s only connected with his baby through virtual means. What if she doesn’t bond with him, and I’m still burdened by being her person because I’m who she knows and feels comfortable with? What if this isn’t easier together?

The doubts are endless, as is my questioning about the reason for this all. I can’t get out of my head; the guilt of my mistakes feels so heavy.

How could I so rudely alter the trajectory of my happiness this way? Was I mad? When did I stop being so smart? Is this what “foolish in love” is?

Depression is never pretty. I’ve been prone to bouts of anxiety for as long as I have known that mental illness is a thing, and probably before then if I was aware. Now, my mind goes through an incessant loop of a flashing alternate reality— the one I didn’t choose, the one that was better, smarter, and easier. It’s what I tell myself. It’s mental torture.

I’ve been to enough places to know there is no perfect country or people. So, it’s not like I’m saying “I hate America” completely because it’s a horrible place. Physically, it’s a stunning, beautiful land that I want the opportunity, time, and resources to explore more.

Returning here like this is, for me, a symbol of failure. I failed at living out my dreams because I was irresponsible, negligent, or foolish.

I’m stirring myself into a pitiful frenzy. Being Stateside reminds me I screwed up. I was living on purpose and with zest. Now, I’m just trying to make it through the day.

Also: I love Rhett. Thinking of him makes my heart smile. He has a smile that toasts my insides. He listens. He cares. He’s supportive. He’s also so far. Lord, doing this without him has not been easy, and it’s difficult for him, too. I hope he’s okay. My decision affected not just me but two other people.

Is there a purpose in all this?

I feel obliged to give this family my all. I didn’t just have a baby irresponsibly. This was an alternative path I consciously chose with someone I admire, respect, and relate to. There was a plan. It’s just that COVID has screwed up everything. Then, it was just a poor decision after another on my part.

Maybe I’m losing my mind. If there’s a lesson in all this, I pray I learn it quickly and without spending any more money. I don’t know if I want to keep trying. I’m not motivated to do anything at this point.

I’ve only mentioned this crazy turn of events in my life to a few people close to me. To those who know me primarily on social media, I’ve been doing my thing as a solo-traveling hippy in Asia for a couple of years now. Suddenly, I’m a mom, which, for the average person, isn’t much of a big deal. For many people, the package deal— grow up, get a job, build a family—are “Goals.” Not I. I was cool with skipping all of that. I agreed to this parenting-partner route under the faithful premise we’d be doing it together.

Living abroad is something you have to experience to understand. Living abroad isn’t the same as going on vacation, though I treated myself to several of those too. I was living an affordable lifestyle on my terms in a climate that was more suitable for my liking. I disconnected and tapped back in when and where I wanted to.

I have no shame in admitting that the carefree lifestyle—though nothing comes without its share of challenges — was exactly what I envisioned for myself. The hardest part is being away from friends and family.

I miss my people and my tribe. It’s one of the sacrifices in exchange for living the life I dreamed—a life where I work only as much as needed, explore new lands, foods, and people, and have little responsibility to manage. I was unashamedly living my best life.

I turned all that in. For family. Because I was full of optimism and maybe a little intoxicated by my freedom. Now that I’m back Stateside, I’m reminded of all I wanted to leave behind. It’s the same world over here that I left.

America functions on a system that most people here are only used to doing for generations— the hustle and bustle, the grind, the ever-growing ladder of success, the never-enough. Shoot, the cost of living alone is reason enough to look elsewhere. It’s painful to acknowledge how much more money one needs in the States to live an equivalent life someplace else.

I’m not ambitious enough anymore to survive in America the way I want to live. The culture of America runs on a wheel that I don’t enjoy rolling on, so I searched for a way to get off. Some call it lazy, but I’m not lazy. I know how to work hard and can if I need to, but I prefer not to exchange all my time for money, not if I can need less of the money and can get more of the time.

Some people believe life is only “living” if there’s struggle. Yes, living always presented challenges, but overall it was the sweetest living I have ever tasted.

Today, it’s raining, and I love to watch it. I smoke weed at least three times a day. It’s all I care to do. At this rate, I’m not sure if it’s therapeutic or addiction. I don’t feel high; numb, actually. It’s the act of smoking that soothes me and gives my hands something to do when I’m not mothering.

I have zero desire to go outside. For one, it’s too damn cold. I haven’t been in this weather in what feels like forever. I remember why I didn’t miss it. It seems to rain every other day, which doesn’t matter much to me. I have nowhere to go or anything to do besides mothering all day, so the outside weather doesn’t matter much. It matches my mood— the clouds, heavy and crying, the up-and-down environment, the...