Lately, I find myself craving a journal, some medium with which I can turn the mishmash in my head into something decipherable. One wouldn't necessarily make the connection, but that also means that the brushes of wanderlust are tickling my spine, my feet, and that deep place in my belly that pulls me toward out-of-the-ordinary places, new experiences, and unexpected adventures. I want to buy a plane ticket. I spent yesterday afternoon stalking backpacker websites on Italy.
Once the wedding craze wound down and all of the tulle and twinkle lights were boxed up, I had a chance to catch my breath and realize - I had no plans. And no money. I reveled, honestly, in the lack of a plan, the open spaces of the future. I settled myself into a temporary job and a bunch of applications for jobs in far off countries that I was almost kind of qualified for. One of those, "yeah, but if you meet me, you'll really like me!" things. Grad school, the obvious solution to this problem, went on the list of maybes. Meanwhile, I found myself having perfect timing at the law office I'd started working at - due to unfortunate circumstances - and my 1 month went to make yourself comfortable, it could be a while.
There is something lovely about having a steady routine (and the paycheck that accompanies it). I'm enjoying the calm certainty of where I am right now. Contributing to humanity, it seems, can be accomplished from a small office in Iowa with a window facing a parking garage just as easily as from a village in Mali with a window facing my mango tree. But you already knew that. Time is easing my inability to connect with other Americans and vice versa. There is a hesitation at the "oh, I was in Africa the last 3 years," mark, where they don't know what to say and I don't know how to make it less awkward. There are a multitude of things from my life there that are similar to my life here, many areas to find relatable, similar if not shared experiences. But to get over that hurdle, both parties must recognize the shared human experience. Having a solid job on this side of the ocean, I've found, is diffusing the wobbly moments.
In this way, the weeks have leaked into months as I adjust to the Western world. My job is teaching me many things, including how to balance my time and find space for a life around the exhausting 9-5. Learning to be an adult has also allowed me time to avoid that big, ominous eventuality -- commitment. 3 years ago, fresh out of college and doe-eyed new to village life, I was sure I knew where I was going, what I wanted. As I sit here today, little of that ideal is the same as what I want now. So these past some odd weeks, when I could (- c, + sh) have made a decision on the job vs. school front, the move to D.C. vs. try hard for an over seas job front, the focus on MPH vs. look into dual degrees front, I shifted into neutral. What continues to haunt me is this: what if I change my mind again? When I chose to change direction (which I can roughly pinpoint at October 2011) last time, it caused a slight tremor. The china in the cabinets rattled, but didn't break. My fear, as I do become an adult, is that if/when I do want something else, change direction again, it will be far enough down the road that it will cause an earthquake, and I'll have to cross my fingers that everything doesn't shatter.
Roughly 1 week ago (a day after I first sat down to try and type this out), I tripped over words of something insignificant that I couldn't even tell you about now. But in that moment, I realized that if I want my life to move forward in any direction (which I believe I do), I need to start making choices. So maybe that's me becoming an adult. It's not buying a nice work blazer, or waking up early enough to pack a healthy lunch for the 9-5, or hosting dinner parties with cheese plates and nice drinks. It's me, making choices and commitments, and handling the consequences.
... Though I am strongly considering Italy for the month of July. So I'm not quite there yet.
Peace & Love
Elyse
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