An impulse

I am many things. I am strong, creative, social, stubborn, and efficient. I am a daughter and a sister, an aunt and a grandchild. I am 28 years old, single, sometimes lonely and a bit fed up. But one thing I am not, is impulsive. If one would ask around, ask my friends and family, for one word to describe me, I bet you a million bucks that the word “impulsive” would never get mentioned. I can’t help it; I don’t like not being in control, taking chances or risks. What if it hurts me? What if it breaks me? I always keep my eye on the ball, always thinking of what I have to lose, not what I can gain from a little impulsiveness in my life.

Yet… yet I now find myself standing in the middle of the street in Rome. Suitcase in hand. Trying to find a nice place to stay. For how long, I don’t know. I don’t even know why. When I woke today I could never have anticipated the outcome of this day. But now I am here, in a foreign country, were I have never been before. I quit my job. I left my apartment. I called mom and said goodbye and at the airport I decided to take the first plane to anywhere. And anywhere, faith would have it, was Rome.

This is truly the first day of the rest of my life.