Okay I have to at least try to write about my life as of late. Some for you, but mostly for me. Because one day, maybe years from now, or maybe tomorrow, I'm gonna want to find this. I'm gonna want to read it again. And feel it again.

So.

I drove to the big fish last weekend. And by I drove, I mean Deb drove, and by I, I mean me, Deb, Mila, and Amelie, and by the big fish, I mean to Omapere, four hours north of Auckland. So really, we drove to Omapere. But I, I was driving to the big fish.

Yes, of course it occured to me that I was putting him up on a pedestal and that I was potentially setting myself up for a devastating disappointment. I was ready for that. But the disappointment never came. A private room as promised, intimacy beyond anything I've experienced thus far, the nicest shower I've ever shared (I've never felt so clean), sweet-nothings whispered in three different languages, massages, fresh baguettes for breakfast, crepes the day after... on and on. He spoiled me. And I saw some of his goofy side too, which was perfect. (Although I would have liked to have been goofy with him, but I was too busy giggling at the show he was putting on. It was a good show.)

As the weekend progressed, though, it became less about the big fish, and more about a lot of other people, other things:

It became about Amelie. And her promise to help me make my Big French Dream a reality. And the way she waited for me. And the way she understands me, and the way I think I understand her. And when she said, "I'm glad I met you. I think we're the same," on top of those sand dunes. And how I think she's right.

It became about Frank Sinatra and how beautiful it was to find him there, and not having to wait until I got back to listen to him. And how when I started to feel regretful about leaving early again, his song "My Kind of Town" started playing. And how it just felt so good to dance.

It became about Simone, my first real Italian friend.

It became about endurance. And trying not to care about all the mud. And the things I thought to keep my mind from the walking and the walking and the walking. And surprising myself time and time again, one impossible-looking steep, no-trees-to-grab-onto, slippery-so-slippery slope, after another.

It became about the awe of Mother Nature's majesty. And the way I couldn't fucking believe that I was seeing this shit.

It became about being at the same place with different people who have lived very different lives, and us all having a fantastic time together.

It was an amazing weekend. I still can't believe I lived it.

It was hard to say goodbye to the big fish, but even harder to say goodbye to everything else. But it wasn't really goodbye. It was mostly until next time.