Well, it’s been a minute. Three months to be exact. Looking at my last entry, it went live a few days before I stopped feeling so lost. On reflection, what I was truly feeling was a mix of lack of direction and impassiveness. I know I’m not alone in being bored of the waiting game the universe started playing with everyone in 2020 that keeps dragging out a year and a half on (#LoveIsNotTourism), but by April, waiting on major life changes I was ready for due to factors wildly outside my control left me feeling restless, angry, and depressive. I was really no fun to be around.
Then the wait was over.
On the same day, a promotion at work and an apartment landed on my lap. At least, that’s how it looked on the outside. However, neither of those things were given, and I had to put a lot of work in to even get to ‘compete’ for a spot on both things. After a lot of false starts and promises, I got to the point where I had resigned to being stuck until… the universe said I could move forward.
Once those two ‘gifts’ were given, within the following two weeks I moved out of my parents’ house and had an active role in hiring my second direct report. Neither of those things were something I’d done before, and I’d be lying if I said I had a wink of restorative sleep those two weeks. Setting aside the work aspect (because that somehow turned into the less demanding of the two), I spent those two weeks being incredibly scared. And I’m still scared.
I don’t do well with change. I’m a routine person through and through, and as I get older, instead of getting more easy going, I find there are less things I’m able to compromise on. I like to think that since I have a set of priorities I never compromise on no matter the setting (any outing has to involve eating at some point), it leaves some gaps for things I am happy to compromise on (I don’t care what we eat, as long as we eat something). So the upset of routine and change that moving brought sent me into an anxious panic for a period.
I’ve never lived truly alone like I do now (a safe thing to admit on the Internet? One to ruminate on later). I went from living at home to living at college, going back and forth for four years, then back at home, then with roommates and a boyfriend, then just a boyfriend, then back at home. Never have I been able to set up a kitchen how it makes sense to me, or know with absolutely certainty that absolutely no one will walk through the door at any moment. Never have I been able to eat brioche and potato chips for dinner because that’s all I could stomach while ill from second dose side effects. Never have I gone days without speaking to another person that wasn’t on the other side of a screen.
I count my blessings daily that I wasn’t forced to self-isolate or self-quarantine during the height of 2020, and I’m sympathetic to those who were isolated in cities far away from loved ones without any indication on when they’d be allowed to reunite. I will always think fondly of the five weekends in a row that my family and I played the same card game until all of us got good and had won at least once. And although the course of 2020 makes me appreciate my time alone that much more, there are things that are 100% more difficult because I’m alone. Loading and unloading the car takes twice as long, assembling a couch cost two broken nails, and hanging up decorations feels like an extreme sport.
I continue to be in flux, even two months in. I’m constantly scared and doubt myself, but I found refuge on an Instagram story that one of my friends probably had no idea would affect me so: if you can’t get rid of the fear, do it scared. That mantra let me carry out a long drive to my best friend’s wedding and back home by myself; it let me get on a mountain coaster despite my fear of heights; it also let me get the pictures on this post. There are bigger waterfalls in the world, but even a small waterfall is tall enough to make me queasy.
The change and the fear is also what’s kept me from writing for three months. During a time I had competing priorities, I was scared to sit in front of a blank page and have nothing come out. Or worse, have something come out that doesn’t deserve to be published. So, here I am, doing it scared. Scared to also give an update to the world should I fail and have to struggle through the changes I asked for, sought out, and received. Never once have I questioned whether I deserved what I’ve been given, but if I would be able to maintain it.
The jury is still out on that one, but the rent this month is paid, all bills are paid, I have food in the fridge, the A/C is working perfectly, and the plants I have managed to acquire are all alive and thriving. More on that next week.