There’s nothing casual about casualties

The sand was uncomfortably hot, scorching under the Traverse City sun as I walked across the beach, flip-flops in hand. I found a spot to lay my sweatshirt down, pulling a book out from my bag and surveying the enormous amount of people soaking in the rays on that beautiful summer day by the water. It wasn’t long after I had taken residence at my own little area of sand that two men, both roughly twenty-five in age, went walking by in front of me, commenting on how I was a “country” girl because of the green John Deere hat that I was wearing. When I looked up and acknowledged their existence, they viewed it fit to take a seat next to me and start talking my ear off.

Before an exchange of names or hometowns, one of them wanted to know whether I had any passions that I would die for, as the other picked up the guitar that they were carrying with them and started strumming.

I was oddly thrown both in and out of my element. I loved the idea of discussing deep life topics, but the fact that they were strangers who were obviously intoxicated brought about an itch of worry. Thoroughly considering what could go wrong, I began answering their questions anyway.

My deepest passions. The wildest thing I’ve ever done. Where I wanted to go and see. They got more out of me in a few minutes than most people do in days of conversation. I enjoyed that, encouraging the big stuff instead of the small talk that consumes and bores us all. It’s a really great quality to have, actually. Making other people feel like they can open up to you.

They talked about Australia, San Francisco, Grand Rapids, Los Angeles, and hiking seven mountains in Colorado. They talked about skydiving, hospital trips, actors who lose themselves after playing a part too long, and video games that allow you to digitally run amuck in your own town. One of them spent twenty minutes telling me a single story about how he was playing the guitar for a girl in California and her ex-boyfriend bashed him in the head, creating a gash that required stitches (which he eventually got after a lot of persuading). How society has placed rules and expectations upon us all, rules that they feel they have to respect in order to be accepted in public. How they appreciate human interaction, even the briefest moments of it.

When I told them what I was doing with my life, they understood that I was trying to set myself up for future success, but they also reminded me to live in the moment and have fun because, to them, it took me way too long to come up with the last time that I had crazy amounts of adventure. I wanted to know if they were truly happy, but I didn’t get a straight answer. They chuckled immediately and went on to say that they were doing what they wanted to do. I don’t know if that automatically equates to happiness. The amount of booze they guzzled down and the vulgar, violent stories, mostly revolving around drugs that they found, told me otherwise. But they were still young, quitting their factory jobs to go out and travel the country. They certainly were doing whatever it was they wanted.

By the end of our time together, I was comfortable enough to reveal my passion for writing. They were excited by it, one of them telling me that he was a writer himself. Poetry. He said that he wrote a couple of poetry books that could be found online, and he gave me the names of both of them. I stored the names in my mind to do a little research later that night. He told me that he wished he could look over this blog to see if I’m really worthy of being read. I honesty wish that he could have. His opinions and suggestions would have been taken into account and trusted. It’s funny how sometimes it takes years to trust people, while other times, only a matter of minutes.

It’s quite ironic that they came across me because in recent weeks, I’ve caught myself becoming envious of those kinds of people. The ones with the guts and courage to flip society the middle finger and leave it all behind. No more responsibilities regarding anyone other than themselves. Living life with a love for travel, people, and nature. Diving inwardly on a daily basis. No fear.

Those two changed my mind, however—something I didn’t think was quite possible because becoming a nomad seemed like my dream life, an end goal. But they made me realize how quickly you can lose everything you’ve worked for, and how difficult it would be to get even an ounce of it back. The thought sent a shock of terror through me. The world doesn’t owe us anything. It doesn’t keep us in safe bubbles until we figure out what we want from life. I realized that I didn’t want to be like them, not simply because of the constant inebriation, but because there was a lack of love present. A desire for human connection that wasn’t being fulfilled. A loneliness hidden with the “fuck expectations” attitude. I also realized that they’re just like me though, on a voyage of self-discovery. Only theirs was more intense and involved sleeping on the streets.

I cannot deny that they most certainly had a point. Life needs to be lived with purpose. You need to live for something or your existence becomes absolutely meaningless, wasted space. So many people are content with living small lives. Too many. They didn’t want me to become one of those people. They told me to wait to get into a relationship until I found someone incredibly special because I deserved it. Because I’m a cool, beautiful, humble, open-minded girl who has a lot to live for.

I want to be adventurous, I do. I really fucking do. But I also think safety, security, and comfort are important for mental sanity, too. Somewhere to be at ease. Yes, I want to go on the most incredible explorations of life. But I also want to fall hopelessly in love, having something to come home to when my spirit has been well-nourished. Looking back on it now, I wish that I had asked them if they ever feel that safety now. Or if they ever have. If they’ve ever been in love or lost it.

I googled his books when I got home, praying that I would find at least one of them, a part of me hoping that these guys were honest people worth remembering and learning from.

Everything he said about it was absolutely true. He wrote poetry. The largest smile plastered itself onto my face when I saw those words. The largest smile.