Being Okay with Being Lost
By Kennedy G. Woodard
I have not felt at home in my own bones for about two years. My words are not mine, my breath feels stolen. I am out of my body. Most of the time I feel like I’m just floating, waiting for something to knock out of sky. It’s different for everyone, but that is the only way I can describe losing myself. For a while I was freaked out and sunk into a depression. I didn’t try in school and I focused all of the time into things I would never care about. It wasn’t until I actually got out of my own head and talked to someone, I mean really talked, that I realized everyone is kind of just winging life.
Being lost isn’t something that is exclusive. Losing yourself doesn’t have an expiration date. It has no age limit. There are people who are lost and confused and start over at the age of 50. With that realization came a sense of clarity. I could breathe and not feel like it was like a tick on a clock. I was finally ok with not knowing who I was or what I was gonna do with my life. If 'I’m gonna be lost, I’m gonna do it right. I bought a random plane ticket and went to California with no money. I road tripped to Marfa, Texas and met the strangest, most exhilarating people, real life martians. I slept for days. I let myself rest and dream. I might even take up painting. I’m going to put myself in the world and allow it to swallow me whole. Don’t get me wrong, I want to find myself. But for now, I’m going to be lost as hell. And that is ok. To find something, you have to lose it first. You must be willing to seek. This world demands you to explore it. I’m not scared of diving head first, because I know I’ll find my way back to my body.