13th
Returning to my peace of mind
I put in my two weeks yesterday. I’m one third of the way packed, and my final project for theatre takes place tomorrow morning. I have all my lines memorized and I’ve nearly almost started cleaning out my car.
I don’t do well with saying good-bye. I always end up terribly upset even if it’s only been a short visit. This feels even more difficult because some of the friends I am leaving in the next few weeks I’ll most likely be leaving forever because they are off to start what I know will be the immensely successful and joy-filled rest of their lives. For some this inevitable happening is a promise, others it’s just a chance. Though to be honest there is also the possibility that I myself won’t be returning to the same neighborhood, city, job. This time around everything is so much more final, more people I care about are decidedly grazing on to greener pastures, while me, I think I’m still just grazing. Either way a part of me is terrified of missing a piece of the people’s lives I care so much about here. I don’t just want to hear about them, I want to be a part of it. I want to be around to toast you all on your graduation or new occupation. I don’t want to skip missing you when someone has stolen your heart or not be able to be there for you if that person isn’t as careful with it as I would like them to be. I’m apprehensive to leave the nights of play and the groans of morning behind me. I don’t want to miss any part of the fabulous lives I foresee. For so many this will be or may be the final good bye. Do you see why I don’t do so well with these things? The words Shannon wrote about time seem especially applicable.
And yet at the same time, through all this fear I’ve expressed and more I haven’t and the anxiety I have that things just might be horrible instead of invigorating like it was the time before, I still feel inclined to feel that I should be going and doing exactly where and what I plan to.
I know a place can’t make you happy, but I’ll be returning to the chaotic state that led to the happiest and most at peace with myself I’ve ever been in my life thus far. For me, leaving everything behind but a third of my clothes and a tent and living in collective poverty helped me take more joy from the little I had. Instead of using a television for entertainment I was left with books, pen, and paper. I read some of my favorite literature to date and remembered how therapuetic it is to put thoughts to paper. Most of this done on the floor in my corner by the fridge or curled up in a booth, rocking with the movement of the train, with the wilderness just inside my perif. Maybe once again I’ll meet a kindred spirit who will call me her past, and I’d be pleased to end up like in my future.
It will be ghetto. It will be cold. I’ll have to wake up much much much too early, and maybe nothing will work out quite as well as before, but I know it will be beautiful and I’ll still be surrounded by endless light. So maybe, just maybe, I’ll find that very same peace of mind.
