This has been a summer of romance. Not literal and perhaps not even literary if you consider the trashy books I've been reading of late. But written well or not, it's romance nonetheless.
I've roamed the streets of Europe in love with life, beauty and being in the moment. Transported myself to times when I was only responsible for myself. I've explored passions deeper than what real life has to offer by traveling through someone else's narrative book after spicy book.
All this time to revel in romance has given me time to think about myself. Who am I really?
Reflecting on Tessa Bailey's "Secretly Yours" and Pablo Neruda's poetry, I have spent time questioning my true self, the impact of societal expectations, and the choices made in silence.
Can one live a fulfilling life without expressing deep, sincere feelings?
The novel prompts thoughts on adult responsibilities distracting from meaningful pursuits, and the uncertainty of expectations versus reality. Fate, unpredictable, sometimes brings unexpected gifts, challenging our planned narratives.
In the solitude of travel (both literal and literary) I have grown a new ability to sit in silence in search of self-awareness. I wonder if this silence is a sign of contentment or overwhelm? Bailey's passage citing the, "Chivalrous hero that lived rent-free in her memory," resonates, as does the notion of life unfolding differently from expectations.
Pablo Neruda's sonnet XVII raises questions about living authentically, and I ponder the consequences of not listening to one's inner voice.
Life's unpredictability is encapsulated in the idea that fate keeps its own schedule, sometimes surprising us with unexpected presents.
What is yet to come?
Where will I travel next?
Who will join me on this journey?
I'm not as invisible as the world would have me think I am.
I still have lots of life to live and many summers of love ahead of me.
