The concept/principle of going abroad for a weekend

Lesson number one, to be stated now but for us to come back to later: life happens.

The typical reaction I got when telling people that I was going to Iceland for a weekend was “what? Just a weekend?”.

Yes. Because honestly, sometimes a weekend is enough.

Not to explore the whole country or even the whole city of Reykjavik, but enough for the experience I wanted. Here’s the thing: there can never be enough hours in a day or enough days in a month, and time goes by faster than I can fathom (specially, as you know, when one is having fun). If I were to wait to go places when I can have a whole week off work and away from responsibilities and my itinerary is planned and reservations are all made, I would hardly ever go anywhere.

And then even if everything was perfectly planned and I had a whole seven days to spend in Iceland who’s to say my tonsillectomy isn’t going to get postponed and I end up booked to go abroad halfway through surgery recovery? That happened, too. So this weekend I went to a different country without being able to eat anything firmer than ice cream and cold mashed potatoes and no activities/excursions planned (mostly due to being drugged up and actively trying to become one with my couch the whole week) and I don’t believe it could have been a better trip because my group pulled it off. We didn’t have everything planned, and it turned out fine. I would even dare saying that we rocked it.

Spontaneity can come at a price, and I’m as much a fan of calculated risks as I abhor irresponsible recklessness but the whole point is there’s no point in always waiting. Waiting for the right moment or the right circumstance. What do those fancy words mean, anyway? Book that damn $172 direct flight you found from Baltimore to Reykjavik and figure the rest out later, or just don’t and wing it. Chances are you don’t get another opportunity like that and really, don’t we all have enough regrets already?

I strive everyday to minimize mine.

Change is the only constant. If I had read this post a couple years ago, old me probably would have fainted and laid cold on the floor, itching to google the shit out of every hostel and every restaurant in the city. I had always loved making plans and felt straight up happiness whey they came to fruition and worked beautifully; now… well. I admire the unpredictable, more. I do not plan for it (paradoxes piss me off) but when it happens, I try and embrace it. This was not the plan I had two years ago. I remember clearly setting myself some rules and standards and now they have changed and that’s fine. In the words of a Brazilian singer, “I would rather be a walking metamorphosis than have that same old opinion formed about everything”.

“If you want to lead an extraordinary life, find out what the ordinary do–and don’t do it.”

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