My Escape Route

My Escape Route

One day, when I can finally drive a car without looking like I'm negotiating a hostage situation with the steering wheel...

I'm leaving. Not running away.

Leaving. There's a difference.

I'm talking about the kind of leaving where I have enough money that I don't need to calculate every decision against somebody else's opinion, somebody else's schedule, somebody else's expectations, or the horrifying question of: “Can I actually afford this?”

I want money that feels slightly irresponsible.  

The kind where I can look at a flight and think: “Business class.”

Not:  “Maybe economy if I don't eat for three days.” 😂

I want to travel somewhere with snow. Real snow.

The kind that makes everything look quiet and expensive.

I want to wake up somewhere cold, look out the window, and have absolutely no idea what day it is.

I want a beautiful hotel. A ridiculous room. A bathtub I don't technically need.

Room service I absolutely don't need.  

Coffee delivered to me because apparently I have finally achieved my final form:

spoiled woman with excellent views and no emotional obligations.

I want to rent a beautiful car and drive through places I've never seen.

Slowly. No destination that matters. No one asking when I'll be home.

No one waiting for me to explain where I've been. No one telling me I'm too loud.

Too much. Too emotional. Too ridiculous. Too anything.

Just me. And the road. 

And probably a playlist that is wildly inappropriate for the scenery. 😂

I want to meet people I've never met before. 

People who know absolutely nothing about my history. 

They won't know who broke my heart. They won't know what I survived.

They won't know what I used to tolerate.

They won't know the version of me who spent years wondering whether she was allowed to be herself.

I'll just be some woman they met in a snowy country who talks too much, laughs too loudly, orders too much food, and somehow always has a giant tumbler.

Perfect. Let them meet that woman first. 

I want conversations that don't come with history attached.

Friendships that don't require explaining the previous ten chapters.

Strangers becoming dinner companions. Random invitations. Unexpected cities.

Beautiful mistakes. 

The kind of stories that begin with: “I don't know why I did this, but…”

Those are usually the good ones. I want to travel beautifully.

Not necessarily because I need luxury.

Because for once, I want to experience what it feels like to choose something simply because I fucking want it.

A beautiful hotel? Book it.

A train ticket to another city? Buy it.

A ridiculous dinner? Order it.

A spontaneous flight? Why the hell not?

And if I want to sit in a café for four hours doing absolutely nothing? 

Congratulations. That's the itinerary.

No productivity. No guilt. No explaining. No justification.

Just existence. What a revolutionary concept. 😂

And maybe the biggest luxury won't even be the money.

It will be the absence of fear. Not constantly calculating.

Not worrying about what happens next month. 

Not wondering whether someone approves. Not trying to keep everybody comfortable.

Not shrinking myself to fit into somebody else's idea of what a woman should be.

I want enough freedom that other people's opinions become background noise.

Someone doesn't like my clothes? Okay.

Someone thinks I'm travelling too much? Interesting.

Someone thinks I'm too loud? Tragic.

Someone thinks I should settle down? They'll survive.

Someone has an opinion about how I should live my life? Excellent.

They can write it in their diary. Preferably in someone else's handwriting. 😂

Because I spent too much of my life thinking about how my choices would affect everyone else.

One day, I want to wake up and realize: Nobody gets a vote anymore.

Not because I don't care about people. 

Because I finally understand that caring about people doesn't mean handing them the steering wheel.

And yes, I know. This sounds wildly dramatic.

But have you met me?  

Apparently subtlety died somewhere around the second emotional crisis. 😂

I don't want to spend the rest of my life proving that I survived.

I want to live. I want snow. I want airports.

I want strange cities. I want expensive coffee. I want beautiful hotels.

I want new friends. I want ridiculous clothes. I want long drives.

I want mornings where nobody needs anything from me.

I want nights where I don't know where tomorrow will take me.

I want to sit somewhere on the other side of the world and suddenly realize: Holy shit. 

I'm here. I made it here. And nobody gave me permission.

I just went. Maybe that's my real escape route.

Not disappearing. Not revenge. Not finding another person to build my life around.

Building a life so completely mine that I don't need to escape from it anymore.

And when I finally have the money to burn? Oh, I'm going to burn it responsibly.

In business class. With travel insurance. And probably an unnecessarily expensive pastry.

Because apparently even my rebellion needs good financial planning. 😂

Until then... 

I'm working. I'm building. I'm saving.

I'm learning to drive. 

And I'm keeping one ridiculous little dream alive:

Someday, Dika is going to look at a snowy landscape through the window of a beautiful hotel, take a sip of her coffee, and realize she no longer has to ask anybody if she's allowed to be there.

She'll just be there.

And honestly? That's the kind of rich I'm after.