Wanderlust; defined in urban dictionary as “a deep uncontrollable desire to hit the road and travel, by whatever means desired, to explore and enjoy the world.” There is no word that can more appropriately encompass my innermost dream than this one. Although I can not recall when it was that my relentless day dreams began, I acknowledged awhile ago that these large scale thoughts to travel everywhere and anywhere were permanently embedded in my mind, ever-present and unrelenting. Eager but naive, I desperately searched for a specificity; coveting a city that I could identify with in my future. I now remember just wanting to have a well thought out quest to strive for and put all my energy towards. Upon reading books, cutting out magazine articles, and scanning over a few blog posts of an urbanite, I became beyond smitten with the eccentric, eclectic, and quirky city that is Seattle, Washington. The moment I stumbled across pictures of the city and read of the intriguing neighborhoods, I knew it was meant for me. I needed to be there as soon as possible by whatever means. Plot twist: Seattle, WA on the west coast. Hailing from North Carolina on the east coast, and having been only sixteen this previous summer made the plausibility of this voyage seemingly impossible. However, with the money I had saved in my bank account from too many long nights showing diners to their tables and wiping down condiment stains from menus, I decided to make the absurd hope a reality.

Mid-July, 2013, it was early afternoon, and I was just one confirmation click away from the plane tickets officially being mine. Sometimes I feel as though my impulsiveness has no bounds, but I allowed it work its way through the ticket website. Just as hastily as the idea had come to me, it was being brought to life. Tomorrow morning at 6:30 a.m. I was going to be boarding a flight for the place that I was homesick for. And yes, I promise it’s possible...to be homesick for a place you’ve never been, just ask any dreamer.

With everything packed up and already in the car, I groggily made my way downstairs, careful not to make a sound; now would probably be a great time to mention my parents were unaware of my plans. I am about as independent and free-willed as they come, and fortunately have parents who somewhat understand that, but only to a rational extent. For they would undoubtedly be totally opposed to their sixteen year old daughter flying alone all the way across the country simply for what they deem a “silly dream.” But I cannot find the words to expound just how much Seattle means to me. It’s not only the coffee shops; from the original Starbucks store to the pocket-sized, whimsical, independently owned coffee houses which line every street. It’s not only the nature of the inhabitants; all fanciful and individually unique, tattoos sleeves and diversified styles appearing with every bat eyelash. It’s not only the gorgeously contrasting geographical features; to the west a striking mountain range with the breathtaking Lake Washington to the east. But it’s instead all of these things and dozens more combined. The serene yearning I feel when reading of all the enchanting neighborhoods sends chills down my spine. The interconnectedness between the city folk is what I intend to be a part of someday; something bigger than myself. So, stealthy tiptoeing out to my, car black coffee in hand, it hit me that I was indeed going to do this.

The airport was moderately crowded, and the masses of people at the front counter buying last minute tickets got my mind stirring. The most fascinating aspect to me about airports is all the stories, memories, and dreams that they house. Every single being in the airport on that humid July morning had a story, and I’m the sort who just wanted to hear them all. Where were they going, why, and whom with? However infinitely curious I was, I forced my wandering mind to quiet itself and continued on. Alone and drifting through bag and security checks, then onto the waiting to board area, a wave of emotions began to hit me as I nestled into a corner seat for the next hour and a half I’d have until the planes disembarking.

Maybe it was the 4 cups of coffee I’d had, maybe it was me over thinking, or maybe it was the slight anxiety I get in pressing situations; whatever the reason my heart was throbbing inside of my chest. As I sat and gave more thought to the obstacles I would certainly face upon my arrival in Seattle, unparalleled to my identity, my mind released a flood gate of questions I’d shelved to its depths, simply because I didn’t want my dream to be severed. You are only sixteen Mackenzie, where are you going to stay? You can only rent a hotel room without parent consent if you’re eighteen. How are you going to afford to eat everyday? With a mere $200 left after plane ticket costs, you’re delusional if you think you can survive more than twenty four hours with that scant amount. These types of questions kept rolling through my mind, woefully unrelenting, without concern of their disturbance to the fantasy I had envisioned. Wholly unaware of the happenings regarding the boarding of the flight, I could feel a shift in my pining, this never before felt fright of the future outcomes weighing too heavily on me. The intercom broadcasting a last call for boarding the plane to Seattle, Washington was what brought me back into focus. My heart said go as my mind ceased to let my body move. Too young, too naive, too impulsive. The decision I made that day is one that I will regret until the day I turn eighteen and can more realistically make this dream come true. However immensely improbable the idea was, I will forever wish I hadn’t missed that plane. Being vulnerable and taking chances means to be alive and living; I don’t want to simply exist, I want to live. I cringe while recalling how just this summer I was so close to living my incessant dream. I do know however, that one day I will get there.