Scared.
I am so scared of travel. I'm not talking about vacations, of a week or a month in hotels and shops and cafes in a new place. I'm scared of taking a running leap off the solid cliff edge of home and diving into the cold, whistling emptiness of the world. I'm scared of living for long periods of time away from the places and the people and the ruts and grooves of routine that I know. I guess I mean I'm scared of moving? Of making a new life, a new home, a new family, and being hideously alone until that happens?
I think this has been on my mind a lot lately as college draws to a close. I chose not to go right into school next year. I chose that on purpose, because I'm not ready, because I didn't want to make such a big decision amid the stress and pain of last semester, and because I'm so scared and so tired of everything. I'm tired of listening. I'm tired of helping. I'm tired of caring. Feigning interest in people I'm not intimate with long enough to have a decent conversation exhausts me on a very profound emotional level, and I'm not ready to do that all day, every day.
But I don't want home to trap me. I don't want to let my anxiety and my exhaustion overwhelm me, until I'm ready to settle for the living death of a dead-end job that pays the bills.
Part of me wants to up and move somewhere absurdly new (Philadelphia, New York, Portland, Johannesburg???) and learn to live alone let it sustain me again. Part of me wants to start a commune with the friends I love and keep us a family as long as I can. Part of me wants to cling to John and go with him to Michigan and be his housewife. I can go anywhere, and I can write stories and join improv troupes and go bar-hopping and join the local library and a community garden and find friends and make a life. But I'm so so scared and so tired I can't move or breathe.
I think this has been on my mind a lot lately as college draws to a close. I chose not to go right into school next year. I chose that on purpose, because I'm not ready, because I didn't want to make such a big decision amid the stress and pain of last semester, and because I'm so scared and so tired of everything. I'm tired of listening. I'm tired of helping. I'm tired of caring. Feigning interest in people I'm not intimate with long enough to have a decent conversation exhausts me on a very profound emotional level, and I'm not ready to do that all day, every day.
But I don't want home to trap me. I don't want to let my anxiety and my exhaustion overwhelm me, until I'm ready to settle for the living death of a dead-end job that pays the bills.
Part of me wants to up and move somewhere absurdly new (Philadelphia, New York, Portland, Johannesburg???) and learn to live alone let it sustain me again. Part of me wants to start a commune with the friends I love and keep us a family as long as I can. Part of me wants to cling to John and go with him to Michigan and be his housewife. I can go anywhere, and I can write stories and join improv troupes and go bar-hopping and join the local library and a community garden and find friends and make a life. But I'm so so scared and so tired I can't move or breathe.