(old piece)
I am finally convinced, after years of fighting it, that loneliness is part of our human experience. The people I like the best are the ones who can't, won't dim the discomfort of questions and doubt. I am never sure if I am my best, happiest self when living my life on my own terms. All I know is that I do not know how else to live it. Along the way I have learned that the adjective brave is awarded freely, even to actions that are steps away from cowardice. I think of my leaving home, I think of my time in graduate school, I think of moving and I know that there is more privilege and necessity in these periods than there is brave.
Knowing yourself is not enough, it is the beginning. One way to begin is to travel alone. I have only recently realized I travel for my third day. On the second day, I am full of regrets, inevitably trying to book an earlier flight home. I have done this to a friend, I left on the second day of what felt like an unbearable trip. Luckily, we are still friends and that speaks more about her than it does about me. If I make it past day two, there is an unclenching in my brain, which I am not even conscious of. Even as I dread the forced time I have with no aim, no plans, time to relax, I realize I must do it. Somewhere between that lack of choice and the third day of my traveling alone, is the space into which I relax. It is only then do I know that I have been tense. Of course, being who I am, at the moment I start to relax is a few moments before I start to slip back into my life, the one with routines and bills, all of which I am deeply wed to. I would never choose the amorphousness of travel over the dress code of work and the start timings of jobs that never end. Without structure, I would be dead, Without structure I would have to be wholly myself. We, me and the world, are not ready for that. It is my nature to move, keep things moving, that if I stopped, I am not sure how many of the foundations I am juggling, would collapse. I would much rather not be than slow down. So I opt for mini-vacations. Ten days sounds like a nightmare, two days is when I never really flip the switch off and on. But three days, three days is probably what I am meant for. It is this space that made this writing possible, I don't know why, but I have been feeling choked, the words don't come together into sentences I like, feelings render me mute, inarticulate. I am silenced by the weight of it all, the prose that helps me make sense of my life escapes me. It is that very prose that has saved me from the shores of yet another sadness and instead landed me at the thoughtful brink of how I can be at the point. I wouldn't change it for anything in this world. I wouldn't be anyone except who I am in this world, even if it means I can only imagine living when life is bearable and no more and no less. This life comes with consequences, making your own decisions of leaving, shutting people off, letting new people in, they all comes with consequences. I have chosen these consequences over my decisions.
I am finally convinced, after years of fighting it, that loneliness is part of our human experience. The people I like the best are the ones who can't, won't dim the discomfort of questions and doubt. I am never sure if I am my best, happiest self when living my life on my own terms. All I know is that I do not know how else to live it. Along the way I have learned that the adjective brave is awarded freely, even to actions that are steps away from cowardice. I think of my leaving home, I think of my time in graduate school, I think of moving and I know that there is more privilege and necessity in these periods than there is brave.
Knowing yourself is not enough, it is the beginning. One way to begin is to travel alone. I have only recently realized I travel for my third day. On the second day, I am full of regrets, inevitably trying to book an earlier flight home. I have done this to a friend, I left on the second day of what felt like an unbearable trip. Luckily, we are still friends and that speaks more about her than it does about me. If I make it past day two, there is an unclenching in my brain, which I am not even conscious of. Even as I dread the forced time I have with no aim, no plans, time to relax, I realize I must do it. Somewhere between that lack of choice and the third day of my traveling alone, is the space into which I relax. It is only then do I know that I have been tense. Of course, being who I am, at the moment I start to relax is a few moments before I start to slip back into my life, the one with routines and bills, all of which I am deeply wed to. I would never choose the amorphousness of travel over the dress code of work and the start timings of jobs that never end. Without structure, I would be dead, Without structure I would have to be wholly myself. We, me and the world, are not ready for that. It is my nature to move, keep things moving, that if I stopped, I am not sure how many of the foundations I am juggling, would collapse. I would much rather not be than slow down. So I opt for mini-vacations. Ten days sounds like a nightmare, two days is when I never really flip the switch off and on. But three days, three days is probably what I am meant for. It is this space that made this writing possible, I don't know why, but I have been feeling choked, the words don't come together into sentences I like, feelings render me mute, inarticulate. I am silenced by the weight of it all, the prose that helps me make sense of my life escapes me. It is that very prose that has saved me from the shores of yet another sadness and instead landed me at the thoughtful brink of how I can be at the point. I wouldn't change it for anything in this world. I wouldn't be anyone except who I am in this world, even if it means I can only imagine living when life is bearable and no more and no less. This life comes with consequences, making your own decisions of leaving, shutting people off, letting new people in, they all comes with consequences. I have chosen these consequences over my decisions.
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