There’s something about the word journey. It’s just always good. Even a journey into the depths of hell seem to hold promise of something better on the other side.
I always get excited about journeys. I find that anytime I’m going through a challenging circumstance, calling it a journey almost always makes it better. A break up? It’s a journey to rediscover myself. Jobless? It’s a journey to learn survival skills. Broke? It’s a journey to living a more simple life.
I’m on a journey. It’s like when you’re driving your car at night on a very dark and winding road and it’s raining pretty hard, and your windshield wipers are working their asses off but it’s just barely enough, and there are deer in the area who like to come out of nowhere, and it’s a steep uphill ride with boulders known to loosen themselves from their binds and come hurling down the mountain.
Why would I be on this road? Well, Gatsby is throwing the party of the year up there. Up there, at the top of this mountain, is champagne flowing and music and dancing and cute little hors d’oeuvres. Up there, someone is standing at the top of a staircase and giving a rousing speech and everyone is laughing. A guy is kissing his girl because she looks so beautiful in her sparkling jewels and dress that sways with her body.
Up there, people are genuinely happy. They aren’t drinking their sorrows away. They aren’t dwelling in bitterness. They aren’t partying hard because the weekend will soon be over and they’ll have to return to Monday and misery.
They are drinking to the beauty of life, and the beauty of our planet, and ironically, to the beauty of our bodies. A bit of champagne never hurt anyone, but if I’m being honest, I’m drinking vodka.
So I keep riding in the direction of the mountaintop because I want to celebrate everyday. Because I want to wake up and look forward to my day. because I want to wake up and be excited. because I want to wake up and move in the direction of my dreams, swim in my dreams, live in my dreams.
I won’t lie and say that this isn’t a treacherous journey in treacherous conditions in a car that, quite frankly, isn’t the most reliable. It’s rough. It’s scary. It’s potentially disastrous. Maybe it’s not for everyone. As for me, I don’t want to hear about the party from someone who was there. I want to tell about it– in my own words, in my own way.
I want to mingle with the people who took the risk and made the journey. I want to throw open the doors and walk into the party and jump right in. I want to welcome everyone who comes behind me. I want to hand them a glass, put my arm around their shoulder, spin them around and say, “You’ve made it. Let’s dance.”