A year and a half ago, I got on a plane, bound for England. I wanted to have an adventure. And I did. The right kind, with highs and lows and beautiful things and fear.
I got back several months later, celebrated the release of my debut novel, and when the initial wave of promotion was over, I decided it was time for another adventure, and I set off for New York.
Ten months in this place, and it has been an adventure. Often a rocky one, a scary one, but I’m a firm believer that if something doesn’t scare you, at least a little, it’s not worth doing.
This post isn’t about my time in NYC. It isn’t about the friends I made, the signings I went to, the food I ate, the holiday frolics and the buses and trains and the strange things that only seem to happen at night and the random slices of beauty. I’m sure I’ll reflect more on those another time.
This post is about leaving.
This is all that’s left on the shelves in my room right now. It says, “Remember. It will be an adventure.”
There were a couple dozen, but as I packed up my hopes and fears and wants and ideas–because those are the things I put on post-it notes–I left this one up, a reminder as much as a promise.
A reminder. A want to remember.
In THE ARCHIVED, Histories are records of people’s lives, kept in bodies instead of books. Every memory, every moment, saved in their skin.
The day I boarded that plane for England. The day I unpacked and assembled my room in Brooklyn. The day I took the room apart. All of it is written on my life. Remembered. Perhaps not as cleanly or as elegantly, but there nonetheless.
There’s a passage in THE ARCHIVED, where Wesley Ayers says to Mackenzie Bishop, “The Archive means that the past is never gone. Never lost. Knowing that, it’s freeing. It’s permission to always look forward.”
We have no guarantee of an Archive, a place where *every* moment of our lives is kept safe, guarded from time and forgetting, nothing to truly free us from the need to look back, to reflect. But the brighter memories, the bolder ones, tend to linger, and these days, whenever an adventure ends or begins, whenever something bright happens, I think of it writing itself into my History, burning in, my life exposing like film under the light.
And I’m going in search of more light. More bright moments.
It’s time for a new adventure.