Turns out: Not the case.
I know I've talked about my last (serious) relationship a lot on here, but it is with good reason: It was truley life changing. I loved more than I knew I could. And then I fractured more than I thought was possible when it came to someone who wasn't blood. My heart broke: And then I found myself. Or regained what I knew and moved on, attempting still to become who I am (becoming more aware this process is always far from over).
Even before it
Typing that just now sounds scary. But, my lord!, liberating. Free. Independence! As humans, to understand ourselves, to love ourselves - and then someone else - I think this is an inheirent need...at least for me it was. Is.
I spent my time in that relationship accepting that in order to be with this man that I loved, I was giving up the part of 20-something life I wanted so much to live first. I wanted the stories. MY stories. Not the ones the decisions of my parents - and grandparents - made for me. Granted, I love my library of youth, but this is my time, and I couldn't be more grateful to have these moments of struggle and strife and OMG! how am I going to do this, and I did it! and I'm alone and happy and I'm me. This is my life - and I'm making my stories.
And while I may not have money and a Scrooge McDuck fortune sized pile of debt, in this exact moment, my feet (and tires) are itching just to get away. And it doesn't take airplanes and money to make life worth living, worth telling about. I don't even care where I go: I just want the story. The freedom. Cause, while it might seem frivolous...I fucking can. And that's awesome.
My life is mine. All mine. And I'm collecting my stories.