Catharsis, and a Carte Blanche Life

When the marks of days take turns towards letting go, these frantic tides of where to lay my head and restlessness, I think the changes (and who’s changing) come in droves...and not to worry through those open doors, and leave yourself settling for less than you deserve, is the key to a choice less hasty and more permanent.


It’s natural that the choices we make lead us to our situations, where some things we’re happy with and some things we’re not. Once you’ve settled on a path, it’s very hard to cross over to the one less taken (or the one more taken, if you choose to be there). So, to be where I am, with a million open doors and very few closed ones...it’s a lucky place to be, and the most intimidating.

On one hand, I want to change everything. I dislike where I live – not so much the house itself, but the town, the region, maybe even the state...I’ve just been here too long, it makes me feel old, and now that I have the freedom to change it, I feel like I should. It may be the last chance I get. I am not fulfilled by the job I am doing, and although I’m happy to sacrifice this time in order to finance some more personal goals, it’s hard to be spending so much of my day dreaming about things that would make me happier. In my closest relationships with people...I feel torn between the familiar and the unknown – between the past, present and future – between those like me, and those who know very little of me at all. I feel very close to a tiny handful of people, and very distant from everyone else.

On the other hand, all this potential is frightening...maddening...overwhelming. This is when the settling takes hold – here I am safe, accustomed, easy. Here I know, at least, that I can go on in the routine. I can stay in my job, in my home; I can nurture the friendships I have, and hope they lead to good places and happy times, and maybe even love, someday. This choice seems purposeful and slow, a guarded life that feels destined to be dull.

I can’t help but be an optimistic person. At least the stress in my life is usually short-lived; I find a way to deal and see the good, at least after a week or two of dwelling on my bad luck. This time is different, though. This time seems...as if everything else rests upon it – and as if that feeling weren’t enough to make the doubt rear it’s ugly head again, every choice carries with it some very heavy sacrifices. I’ve learned in time to deal with the sadness I feel at the ends of things...to learn that the beginnings are there, too. The ends, in this case, mean giving up some things that have given me a lot of happiness. In June, I will have spent ten years here. That’s a huge time commitment to a place I am beginning to resent. That’s one-third of my life...I was 19. Still, the wearing-out-my-welcome seems to be creeping in. People have come and gone, as here they always do – and maybe I’m just beginning to see that I should have left with them. I’m not sad about it, though...and that’s the thought I keep returning to.

I haven’t stopped thinking about all this change for the past month or so. Plans are zygotes, nothing more. I know, however, that these ideas make me happy, hopeful and expectant of better things. I keep coming back to them...in every decision I make, every person I talk to, everything I read or write, every time I look at a map. Nevertheless, as heavy as these thoughts and words are, I feel light.

Impatient, fearful and unsure....but light.