Minneapolis to Dublin

I won't miss the sun today. I won't be sick or sad or sleepy. It's cold outside but only if you're standing still. It's impossible to do that here. I'm new to this city. I'm on my fifth day. I’m on my fourth night. I've been out walking on my own just twice. First to get my groceries, dark early, a bag heavy hanging on my right shoulder, brushing past people on the sidewalk and wondering where everyone is running to so urgently on a Tuesday night. I've never lived in a city, or a place where you have anywhere to go other than home past 6:30.

My dad came to Dublin 30 years ago, when he was long-haired, drinking heavily, and my same age. A social butterfly who said yes to everything, who carried all that he owned in a backpack, who gave the old guys at the pub the time of day and dreamed vividly each night.

Before I left for here, for now, my dad pulled out his old photos, journals, letters, and tape recordings from his time traveling Europe. I flipped and examined, I listened to his stories like a good school kid, I asked him questions about what his professors wore and what piece of art he stared at for the longest and about the girl seen all twisted up in the white comforter, smoking out the window, hair knotted and frizzy.

In the dim light of our 1970s kitchen, whispering because my step mom was just a room away, fast asleep, I asked my dad if he thought that we would've been friends if we were the same age, if we weren't family. He replied with a swift yes, of course, most definitely, that it was silly for me to even give a thought to the contrary.

I guess what was really behind this silly question was the fear that I couldn't live as he could. That I couldn't go to a country unfamiliar in every which way, be in the middle of a busy city, when I'd grown up with goats in the house, that I would miss the bus that always seems to be appearing on the wrong side of the street or headed in the opposite direction or where I need to be going, and learn to figure it out, learn to enjoy figuring it out. Would it be life-altering? If I was hoping it would change me, if I thought too much about the outcome, would I jinx something?

I would have to see for myself. Even if my Dad told me that I could do everything he had and more, I wouldn't have believed him then, in our 1970s kitchen. I would just have to see for myself.

Tomorrow I'll take myself out to a bookstore and a museum and the local college. I'll compliment the guy working at the phone store's tattoos and I'll ask him about the best places to see live music. I'll become best friends with the people I just met yesterday because our placement here at the same time feels very purposeful to me. I'll send my dad letters and postcards and tell him all the ways that being open and curious has changed me. Has been life-altering. I guess I'll see for myself.