Christmas With a New Family, Under the Palm Trees

Last night, around 1 a.m., I woke up to find myself thoroughly immersed in what Yugen lovingly refers to as a “cuddle puddle.” In other words: a mosh pit of exhausted digital nomads, who happily pool together in short bursts of alcohol-induced naps.

Everyone had already retreated to their rooms and given into sleep, but my energy had been renewed. Maybe fueled by a day of sunshine and drinking games, easy laughter or the comfort of friends who have so easily and effortlessly become my family. I walked through the empty open living room of our Bali mansion, that when split between 24 people, is wildly affordable. I took in the sounds of our animal roommates, chirping and calling from unknown corners, hidden behind palm trees and the veil of the night. I watched the twilight breeze dance with the pool and inhaled the sweet, warm and welcoming energy of yet another temporary home created by Yugen.

And I exhaled.

Like I have so many times in the past five months, as I’ve had to continuously reassure myself that yes, yes this is my life. Every time I’ve witnessed a sunrise or a sunset, a generous gesture from a stranger whose language I don’t speak or the thoughtfulness of travel buddies that have far outgrown that simplistic title. Every time I wake up in a new bed within a new room in a new city and country and continent, confused at where I am because my mind can’t keep up with my passport.

Every time I have the opportunity to not only see another destination with my own eyes, but through the scope of a friend whose dreams come true in front of me, darting their attention to every inch of the sky and beach, trying to soak it all up, take it all in. Or when I’m reunited with Yugens after not spending more than a few weeks apart, but it feels like a lifetime in Remote Year time, so greetings are met with joyous embraces, shrieks of reunion, wet bathing suit group hugs and the gentle, yet tight grip of relief to have your friend back in sight.

It’s the long awaited answer that I’ve had trouble defining when anyone asked me how I feel about this journey. It finally came to me after a 3.5 mile coastal walk from Bondi to Coogee Beach in Australia, thanks to two margaritas and the company of two treasured friends.

Remote Year feels like exhaling for the first time, in a long time.

Nearly every 24 hours, I sigh at something. I pause. I breathe. I stop. And I find my joy in the moment, with each cyclic rhythm my body practices. My heartbeat moves my spirit, my breath guides my path.

Inhale, exhale. Live. Live it, Lindsay. Live it now.

In two weeks, I took four flights. I explored my fifth continent. I received my 21st stamp. I wrote 12 articles but only on planes, so the rest of my days could be spent on a disconnected, actually-out-of-office adventure. I watched surfers and rice farmers perfect their craft. I was blessed by a Balinese healer, who told me how “happy happy” my life would be. I poorly and gleefully twirled on the beaches of Bondi Beach, grinning so big my cheeks hurt the next day.

I gathered around a Christmas tree as thoughtful friends presented stockings and gifts, knowing we would all feel the sting of homesickness, far away from our traditional homesteads. I had one too many in beer olympics and never enough hugs or shared “I love yous” from friends on the couch next to mine, those miles away, nestled in WhatsApp or iMessage and those on the other side of FaceTime. I ate French fries while sitting cross legged on a giant table and also in a bathrobe on a bed with three tipsy friends, sampling the sauces and mindlessly chatting.

I didn’t wear shoes for three full days and I lived in the same bathing suit and shorts, as I dipped my toes in the Pacific and the Indian oceans. I kissed an Australian and kissed each day, both with the same fervor of anticipation that comes when you don’t know what’s next, but you don’t care, because you know this mad world has a way of delightfully surprising you.

And best of all, the only thing required of you is to inhale. Exhale. And repeat.

See ya in Thailand, 2018. Can’t wait to see how you take my breath away.