If things had to come to an end, at least the view was to die for.
To have a dear friend offer you a place for even an evening is something I consider to be true gold.
To have a friend say “Please stay as long as you want”—and mean it—can’t even be quantified into worth.
For it to have been overlooking the ocean was something out of a dream.
But for it to have been the very spot where my body finally said “Dude, it’s time” was a bit of a surprise.
It might have been the fact that I was able to do nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Forcing myself to be still.
And when I felt guilty for doing nothing, I deliberately did even more nothing.
Just stared at that window.
Doing nothing.
Since I first sold everything in Austin for a one-way ticket to Europe, it’s been nonstop.
Oh sure, stopping here-and-there,
Having the beauty to choose to spend a month in places I loved was incredible.
But it’s always been a one-way ticket.
And, sure, to have done it for nearly 25 years is unheard of.
But it was that table when I realized—without prompt, thought or catalyst—that the days of this go-go-go were gone.
It didn’t occur at first,
Once was when I was setting up my tent on the beach.
A strange happenstance—again, unprompted—where I just felt tired.
A real tired.
Tired from 24 years.
Of the bike and of the boat and the treks and tuktuks and taxis.
Funny how it came about.
But it came about.
And then Nina’s.
There at that table.
Just invited itself and sat down.
And broke the news to me that I couldn't keep doing this.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
This is all I’ve known,
And I got pretty good at it.
Not making money or anything,
But just adapting.
I adapt quickly and well.
A quarter of a century of doing it, I'd hope so.
The question is can I adapt once more to whatever comes next.
