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No gracias. Monica politely looked the street vendor in the eye to kindly beckon him away. She was a little suprised as the city park by the water was not an apparent tourist spot. Not but 24 hours before she had been sitting in her New York City apartment with the sole minded purpose of fleeing. It had happened again. Everything came crashing down. Her life. It started cracking. At first little by little and then there was a big hammer. Her usual routine was this - escape before all the shattered pieces fell to the ground.

Solo travel was not something she had ever thought she’d enjoy. Monica was a naturally solitary person. It was just easier. But traveling was different there were so many details and nuances. It was easier when someone else took care of everything but with other people you always had to compromise. Planning really wasn’t her thing either - she jumped on planes to escape the mandate of obligation, not to be beholden to it in another city. That’s the thing. Sitting there on that bench in a country where she didn’t even speak the language - there were no obligations. No reminders or remnants of all the things she had to, all the things she should have done - she was just her by herself. True solitude.

Women reach points in their lives where their singleness can easily be explained by age, career focus or lack of prospects. When you’re young people assume you’re still finding yourself and of course if you’re in school or just starting off in your career, it makes sense why you’re single. Certain cities or locations don’t have as many prospects. Monica wore out these excuses a long time ago. At a certain point you have to look in the mirror and face the fact that it’s you. This time. This guy she had thought it would be different but it turned out to be the same. How could it always, always turn out to be the same? It wasn’t just the romantic part of her life - it was her professional life too. Over and over again, things always tended to come crashing down.

The funny part was that everything always started out so great. She loved being in love. Talking on the phone for hours and getting butterflies in her stomach whenever she saw him. In those early days she’d daydream of their relationship growing and flourishing. Work was actually very similar. She’d start at a job and find it exhilarating and interesting. Monica would develop meaningful relationships with coworkers and her manager. She’d show up and zealously gun hard to demonstrate how much the position meant to her. But then it’d all stop at some point.

He would start doing shady and underhanded things. Her managers would give unfair feedback or her assignment was unreasonable. The man who used to give her butterflies would irritate her. The job she had revered for so long would get boring and predictable. For better, when she felt happy and fulfilled it would permeate her life like an euphoric contagion. Unfortunately, the same applied when the discontent would settle in ... and it didn’t make much sense because nothing much changed with him or with the job. At some level she knew that there was something within her that was broken. Yeah broken. The plethora of self-help articles online encouraged people not to use that word but it was accurate. It was a little fucked up but there was something about the up-and-down that she actually enjoyed.

What’s fresher than a new job full of countless opportunities? New relationships - there is no greater feeling than that of new love and daydreaming about all the things that could be. The contrast between the former tragedy and current newness was compelling. There was a part of Monica that actually liked the rollercoaster. There was a part of her that reveled in the extremes. I mean if things just progressed naturally then what would there be? Normalcy?

It was only but six weeks ago. He said something and it sounded like he was trying to get smart with her or get over on something. How dare he disrespect her! The assignment her boss gave her - well yeah it wasn’t done well but it wasn’t her fault, her manager hadn’t given her enough information. She didn’t give Monica a chance. Besides it was boring and she couldn’t pay attention to boring things. And then the arguments began with him and she couldn’t focus at work. Instead of going home to her trash apartment she’d stop off at a bar, whip out a mostly maxed out credit card and drink the night away. Her 30-something year old body couldn’t hold alcohol like it used to and she didn’t use an alarm because she relied on “her body’s natural rhythm.” She’d get up and realize he hadn’t responded to her text and she’d be irritated. But then she’d realized she was running late to work, jump in the shower and throw something on. She’d arrive to work late, disheveled and haughty. She didn’t even care what others thought because the place was stupid. And the guy still hadn’t texted her because he was stupid and a typical guy who didn’t give a shit. She’d half ass some work until 11:30 am or so, and despite getting in late go to lunch. She’d made a beeline to the buffet and load up on everything. Soaking up yesterdays alcohol, swallowing the feelings of panic.

But yeah. From there things would get worse and just snowball. Frantic and sitting in her tornado of an apartment, Monica would “zombie out” in front of reality TV and pass out on the couch. On occasion she’d hit a moment of clarity, get to work on time and do her thing. She would apologize to the guy - reset but then something would trigger her and the mess would just get bigger until she just needed to escape. Escape from her own mess.

Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t know why she was like this or why she did this to herself. Why was this her life? Whenever it happened she’d sit and remember how good it was at one point in time but it never lasted for that long. And she would blow it up so well that she had to run away. Had to start all over again.

When she was in grad school she had gotten a tattoo on her hip. Very small but unlike the random tattoo on her back she had thought about this one - it was an anchor. When a ship goes out to sea, it lifts its anchor and heads off into a new adventure. Anything is possible. However, at one point the adventure comes to an end. When it does the ship returns home and pulls out that anchor once more.

All of these thoughts ran through her head. She knew them to be true but then what, what to do with them? Tears streamed down her face but she wasn’t sobbing. Her eyes stayed glued on a distant ship in the horizon. She wondered how it knew. How the ship knew when it was time to drop its anchor and return home.