Epilogue

Ah, the 8 hour plane-ride finale of monotony. I just finished watching Jersey Girl. It turned out to actually be a cute film. No masterpiece, but it was warm, sincere, and had decent dialogue (something I feel Kevin Smith often lacks).

But I stray from my intention. I think the time has come to write an epilogue to this journal. I can’t think of a particularly good reason to do so, aside from achieving a sense of finality and closure. I’m nearing 200 handwritten pages of writing for these 4 weeks of travel, and while I have every intent of typing this all up, I can’t help but wonder at the point. There is no theme to these pages, nor any over-arching plot unless you consider my life to fit that description. What I have written, here is really a combination of personal ramblings, introspections, and often simple, nondescript accounts of what my days have brought me.

I’ve been writing these weeks both endlessly and tirelessly and I’m not entirely sure what goal I’ve been so eager to put my energies toward. Truly, since I began writing in the first week, I wondered if anyone, myself included, would have the interest or stamina to actually read it.

My experiences have been enrapturing to myself, but most of what I have seen and experienced are no more interesting and often less elaborated on than descriptions I routinely skim in fantasy and sci-fi novels. My writing style has seen better days. But then, I’m often hard on my own work, and it’s hard to judge ones own writing.

The trip has been long and in many ways difficult. I recall clearly the first night in Belgium being scared shitless, and asking myself over and over what I could have been thinking, to agree to wander Europe all by myself. I wondered very sincerely how I would manage to make it through the following two weeks. I wanted nothing more than to be home safe in a familiar bed.

The place I stayed in Belgium remains the worst place I have had to stay, and certainly this contributed to my feeling of panic, but it is also clear to me now that the area of town surrounding my hostel was not the only contributing factor.

This is the strongest reason I can point to that I suspect this journey has changed me in some ways. I can’t say just how. Perhaps I will carry myself more confidently alone, or perhaps I’ve gained a measure of social ability with introductions. I’d like to believe both. But whether either are true or not, neither are truly changes so much as the symptoms of a deeper change.

To you, the reader (and here’s hoping I have one) these symptoms may be the extent of what the change will mean. But to me, the person living in Allan’s body and daily struggling to puzzle out who he is and who he can be, the change may be a more profound one, whether I ever understand it or not.

Most important is that, at this moment I can’t help but think any changes will be for the better. In these 4 weeks I have both witnessed and experienced a great deal, and I think some things I have seen and experienced may be at the forefront of my mind for the rest of my years.

It’s odd to believe something like that, because few significant things feel anywhere near as significant at the time they are actually happening. I may remember Berlin the rest of my life, but waking up in Berlin is very much like waking up in Silver Spring, Maryland. Life always feels suspiciously like life at the time its being lived.

I am happy with those words, so I think I will end on them. Thank you, reader, for reading whatever you have read, and if you read all of it thank you doubly. I hope you do not regret the level of commitment you have granted to these accounts of my month away from home.