It's remarkable how much I get to blog about (and live) my Everday Life when I'm neither training nor Facebooking. It's also spring break on all 3 college campuses where I work, which leaves me with more free time than I usually enjoy.
My routine's typically about efficiency and intellectualism, but during this seemingly ephemeral break, I pursue matters both torpid and erudite. This morning was spent in pajamas vacillating between indolence and ambition (study and work out or sit on my ass and do nothing?) And I spent last night planning grad school milestones and studying vocabulary for the GRE.
It's also times like these that the volume increases on my internal mutterings, and my own feelings (muffled for days or months by the cacophony of my daily comings and goings) transform from pellucid to opaque.
During different conversations the past few weeks, it occurred to me that storing a 1-bedroom apartment's worth of things is both emotionally and literally imprudent. After all, I could (literally) sell it and not have to pay for such a large storage unit, and (emotionally) I need to move on.
This idea appeared in inchoate form as one of my pre-hiatus Facebook updates: onward + upward.
I think many of us cling to the past because we are afraid of the unknown, and the past, while usually unsafe, is familiar. I've often considered myself somewhat impetuous; I am usually the first among friends to spring into decisive action. But I've been uncharacteristically resistant to change lately; in fact, it wasn't my furniture I was hoping to preserve, but my sense of order and independence.
When I first married - and again when I purchased my home - an enigmatic but benevolent world opened before me, and I stepped eagerly ahead. Change had long been my friend; I had no reason to believe that life wouldn't increasingly improve as I embraced it. Merely years after both began, however, my marriage and home ownership were terminated, rendering that world disorganized and unfamiliar. Now even seemingly simple decisions seemed ambiguous and onerous - after all, the wrong step may yield the same disastrous results.
I've made a lot of crucial changes the past few weeks, and further change is inevtiable (even welcome) as my PhD application and the B's job situation loom over us. Nonetheless, I admit that I've been semiconsciously resisting moving forward into my "new life." Despite already giving up parts of up my home, furniture, and personal space when I started moving in with the B last year, seeing my empty home and making the trips to storage made it suddenly REAL.
A few sententious pals have suggested that I'd been living in the past, but it was only this week that it really hit home how much I've been living this part of my lilfe - INCLUDING my relationship - with one hand on the door . . . . . just in case.
That's just no way to live. Either you're in (to whatever deep shit you're into), or you're out.
It's not comfortable to find oneself in unknown surroundings. It's frightening and unsettling. I may take these steps forward and fall; I may find greater success than ever before. There is absolutely no way to know.
But I have to trust that, just as I have in the past, I will recognize soon enough if and when my new direction needs adjustment.
Besides, life's going to move on, whether I do or not - and there's a much, MUCH greater chance that I WILL succeed if I move along with it.