I like my new apartment. I think I picked the right one, it feels right, feels like it could be home. Filled with my stuff, my memories, it could work. I like having a place to myself. A place to blast my music, display the things I love, cry without an audience, invite friends to visit, sit quietly, escape. It’s taking some time to set it up right, but it’ll get there; with some more money spent and some more time to adjust, it’ll fit.
But, putting everything out, decorating, hanging pictures, throwing out boxes... it's too permanent and I need this to be temporary, to feel temporary. I don't want to commit, because if I commit, then maybe I won't leave? Maybe I'll get caught up, maybe I'll get attached. I liked my plan, but now that it's time to live it, time to follow through with step one, year one, I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure I'll stick to the plan. I’m not so sure that this was a good idea.
“You’re going to be unhappy for a while. This new place, new job, etc, it’ll be stressful and at first you won’t like it. But this is something you picked. So you’ll deal, not all of life is happy”
But shouldn't it be? If you can be happy, shouldn't you be?
You’re right that I picked this, and you’re right that I probably won’t be happy for a while. But, you’re also wrong, or maybe you’re not wrong, maybe you just don’t understand. How could you when I can't even explain to you that I don't want to be here, that I don't think I want this.
I picked this because I thought I was ready to leave; thought that I needed to get away, to find myself, to grow up. I needed to decide who I was going to be, what I was going to love and what I was going to stand for. I wanted this job because it was supposed to be an actuarial job in a non-traditional role, I don’t want to be an actuary. But the business side of what I was going to do, I enjoyed that. I didn’t choose this just for me. It’s the job I was supposed to take. In order for you to be proud, I had to leave home. You never said it, but you always talked your way around it. Always made sure I knew what you thought, as if somehow staying would make me weaker; make what I was doing less important or meaningful. Plus, this was the job that made the fastest student loan payoff possible.
So, how could I not pick this?
How? I found myself. Or, at least the version of myself that I think I want to be. I found it without leaving; I grew up when no one was looking. And, my non-traditional role is gone. I’ll be plugging and chugging, and that’s fine, it’s just boring, it's not what I want. And, what if I don’t want to leave? I do actually want to leave, I don’t want to return to those exact towns, and streets, and faces. But I don’t want to be this far away either. I know it's only two hours, but it feels like forever. I need those people, those places...
So, I’m here. I’m sitting in my new apartment wondering what the hell I was thinking, worrying about what will change, thinking about all the things I’ll miss, anxious about changes in plans, but mostly angry with myself because I’m the only one to blame.
This is what I picked, and it will work, I will be happy. I just wonder if it could have been better, if I could be better.
But, putting everything out, decorating, hanging pictures, throwing out boxes... it's too permanent and I need this to be temporary, to feel temporary. I don't want to commit, because if I commit, then maybe I won't leave? Maybe I'll get caught up, maybe I'll get attached. I liked my plan, but now that it's time to live it, time to follow through with step one, year one, I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure I'll stick to the plan. I’m not so sure that this was a good idea.
“You’re going to be unhappy for a while. This new place, new job, etc, it’ll be stressful and at first you won’t like it. But this is something you picked. So you’ll deal, not all of life is happy”
But shouldn't it be? If you can be happy, shouldn't you be?
You’re right that I picked this, and you’re right that I probably won’t be happy for a while. But, you’re also wrong, or maybe you’re not wrong, maybe you just don’t understand. How could you when I can't even explain to you that I don't want to be here, that I don't think I want this.
I picked this because I thought I was ready to leave; thought that I needed to get away, to find myself, to grow up. I needed to decide who I was going to be, what I was going to love and what I was going to stand for. I wanted this job because it was supposed to be an actuarial job in a non-traditional role, I don’t want to be an actuary. But the business side of what I was going to do, I enjoyed that. I didn’t choose this just for me. It’s the job I was supposed to take. In order for you to be proud, I had to leave home. You never said it, but you always talked your way around it. Always made sure I knew what you thought, as if somehow staying would make me weaker; make what I was doing less important or meaningful. Plus, this was the job that made the fastest student loan payoff possible.
So, how could I not pick this?
How? I found myself. Or, at least the version of myself that I think I want to be. I found it without leaving; I grew up when no one was looking. And, my non-traditional role is gone. I’ll be plugging and chugging, and that’s fine, it’s just boring, it's not what I want. And, what if I don’t want to leave? I do actually want to leave, I don’t want to return to those exact towns, and streets, and faces. But I don’t want to be this far away either. I know it's only two hours, but it feels like forever. I need those people, those places...
So, I’m here. I’m sitting in my new apartment wondering what the hell I was thinking, worrying about what will change, thinking about all the things I’ll miss, anxious about changes in plans, but mostly angry with myself because I’m the only one to blame.
This is what I picked, and it will work, I will be happy. I just wonder if it could have been better, if I could be better.
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