I have never done things the easy way, a personality trait of mine that my mother reminds me of frequently. I have this constant, overwhelming feeling of running, and searching for the next beautiful thing, something that makes me feel alive, as if staying in one place too long will suffocate me and suck the soul right out of me. I start and quit jobs the same day. I move apartments just as I finish unpacking. I toss out week old lovers like Chinese takeout. It’s an itch I’ve always been told is not good for me to scratch, a looming shadow casting over me, corrupting any sense of practicality, begging me to jump into the deep end without knowing what’s below the surface. “It is not good for you to always wonder what else is out there,” people will tell me. “Plant your roots, find something consistent,” The only problem is, I have never felt more alive or free than I do when I succumb to this power that lives deep inside of me. When I run far and fierce toward the unknown, in strange places, around faces I have never seen before, that is when I feel the most beautiful, the most like myself. When I take pen to paper and relive my experiences through words and memories I can see on a page. My roots are in my experiences, in the beautiful mountains I’ve scaled, and in the breaths I’ve held submerged in blue salty waters. I’ve decided that this feeling is a rare beautiful gift that the earth has given to me. I am not right or wrong for this, but I’m meant to cause chaos. To use my humor to connect with others, and my fearlessness to connect with the ground they stand on. I am a writer. I am a wandering soul, not searching for one home or one constant, but many, like the waves that crash on the shore, always moving with the moon’s pull, but at that moment, right where they belong. So here’s to us. The unpractical. The wild, the runners, the hell raisers, the freed. May we continue to dive head first into the unknown. To find our purpose in other people’s laughter. To howl at the moon well into the night, and play all day in the sun. But most importantly, may we continue to spread love like wildfire. With every story we talk, every poem we write, and every joke we tell.
Here’s To The Dreamers
By Tylyn Taylor,