I’ve always paid attention to signs and patterns of events in my life, drawing parallels and lessons from them when possible. This one may be the most important lesson yet.
Last year, when I left everything and set out on my solo journey, I picked up my backpack and walked straight into the darkness. I was in uncharted territory, exploring the world on my own, long-term, not knowing what my next step or destination would be.
I had no one to answer to and no one to listen to, except myself. The opportunity to map my own way across the world, without conferring with anyone or having to take care of anything first, was a freedom I had never experienced.
About four months in, as I shivered my way through winter in Europe, dreaming of trading in the snow for a far away summer, I went to stay with a friend in Germany. One day, a note on the back of her door caught my attention. It read, “Leap and the net will appear.” As I was in a particularly fragile state during my visit, tears came to my eyes and I froze with my hand on the doorknob. It was as if it had been left there just for me to find.
By leaving my life as I knew it behind, I had already made my leap and felt stuck in a free-fall, wondering through tears where my net was and when (or if) I would ever feel safely “caught.”
Shortly afterwards, I listened to my desire to chase summer and moved to Patagonia with the intention of staying for three months in Argentina, where I had never been before and knew no one.
The apartment search was overwhelming, especially with bad internet, no local phone number, and higher prices than I had expected. I looked at a beautiful, bright, recently renovated place that I loved at first sight. It was adorned in my favorite turquoise, with a view of the lake, complete with Jack Daniels furniture (it literally had my name on it), but it was a bit too expensive for me. Stress mounted as I took a few days to think it through, risking it being rented to someone else.
That’s when I noticed it was on a street called Salta. In Spanish, “salta” means “leap.”
So I leapt. I accepted the apartment, knowing that I would figure out the money and trusting that this was the right step. It had to be. This couldn’t be just a coincidence.
It was there, during my three months on Calle Salta in Patagonia, where I felt the sun on my skin again, not just casting light, but giving warmth. I started speaking Spanish like a local again, something I hadn’t experienced since 2004. I regained motivation to take my business to the next level after simply maintaining for so long. I ran along the shores of Lake Nahuel Huapi, tuning out the world and centering myself.
In taking it one day at a time, listening to myself, and living in the present, my free-fall slowed to a stop.
I began sensing the “net” everywhere. It existed in the mountain sun, the hiking trails, the alpine lakes, the Spanish language, my creative writing, even the Argentinian steaks and craft beer; it wove itself through everything that makes me feel like me.
I started the journey back up.
When the leaves turned bright orange and the Patagonian sun began to set on summer, when the days grew shorter and the darkness returned to the early evening, I headed north. Once again, I sought the brightness of the sun, this time, with renewed confidence.
Since I left home, I had been searching for the so-called “net” in all the wrong places until I landed on Calle Salta, far from anyone or anything I knew. I’ve put myself out there, tested my strengths, walked into the uncharted darkness time and again, looking for a source of light, often fumbling in a panic to find a switch. But the light I finally discovered has no switch. It was just too dim to see. It was my own.
It was the powerful peace of being on my own, and that, I learned, is my net.
Perhaps the greatest surprise is that I had built it myself. On the long road across the world and back, I have been the only constant. I became the person I turn to for comfort, the one I trust to make the best decision for me, standing on my own two feet, and I am also the only person who could get myself to take the leap in the first place.
There was no way for me to know when I left my home last year that I would find the strength and confidence that I now have to be on my own. I never thought I would enjoy solo travel. I never thought I would want to carve out time to do activities alone, even in a place where friends are abundant.
Life is crazy.
Yesterday, a friend brought me flowers accompanied by a note, which read, “Salta, y la red aparecerá.” Yes, Spanish for “Leap, and the net will appear.”
When I let it sink in, tears I could not blink away welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. But these tears felt different from the ones I’ve been accustomed to this past year. These tears spoke relief, strength, joy, optimism, gratitude.
Leaping has been my pattern, setting out into the unknown, facing decisions and obstacles, highs and lows, not knowing where I would end up. And the craziest part? The fact that I was fragile and doubting at times did not change the outcome of gaining the strength and skills it took to build the net that would eventually catch me.
I attribute the lessons I’ve learned this year to countless experiences, influences, people, and places, but I’m certain that I would not have grown to be who I am now had I not first been brave enough to take the leap.
So jump. It might just be you that appears.
Salta, puede ser que aparezcas tú…
