It seems like only yesterday that I walked into my moldy hotel room home wondering where the ocean was and why I couldn't hear it (quiet lake-like bay), and now, here I am: heart-racing, palms sweating, drawers open and clothes strewn across the corners of my room (a floor up from where I started) some six months later.
I just got a lovely - wonderful, really - email from one of my oldest and dearest friends, Lisa who is in a similar situation of readying herself to move halfway across the world into the great unknown. She's going to be an intern at the Economist in London, England! I'm so unbelievably proud and in awe of her - she's always been the smart one, and I love her enormously for that. And I so wish you could hear how I'm saying "London, England." A mix of mid-west, a pinch of island, and a dash of valley girl chewing bubble gum. (I'm gonna fit right in at home. I still say "fur" instead of "for" and Americanize everything that crosses my vocal path.) Anyway, she was able to write so eloquently what's been swirling around in my head these past six months. I've felt like I'm in Limbo, not ready or willing to settle here because I knew there was something next, someplace else and I didn't want to get attached, but then I grew to love it more than I imagined; met wonderful people who turned into surprising friends, unintentionally fell into routine, and now it's time to go (such is life). It's not that I don't appreciate where I am, quite the opposite, I can't get over the fact that this is what I've turned into my life. And it's awesome and it's scary and it's wonderful and it's lonely, but I've been out here loving every minute of it, even when I was crying or fuming, because I was learning. And now, as I whimper at my roommate's computer (mine crashed, restored and apparently doesn't have the components for the internet!! Technology hates me), looking around the wonderful, colorful mess I've created, and the palm fronds swaying in the tropical breeze, I can't help but be grateful for this moment and every moment that's preceded it in helping me get here, no matter how hard or heart-breaking the journey has been.
While there's a part of me that's been clawing at the walls, trying to get out of this place months ago, there's also a part of me that's clinging to the doorframe and shouting, "Let me stay! If only for one more day! Let me stay!" and perhaps that's why I extended two weeks after my contract end date. I first remember the feeling of time fleeing when I returned to Chicago in May 2007. I had an internship with Chicago Dramatists, and as the summer drew to a close and I was preparing to return to Columbia, MO to finish my super senior semester, I imagined myself walking the giant dog of time (like Tock on the cover of the Phantom Tollbooth), and while I was trying to stroll along and enjoy the scenery, he was running down the street, chasing after a squirrel, and no matter how hard I tried to restrain him, he just pulled me along with my heels dragging on the pavement. It's happening again, and no matter how hard I fight it, we're rushing forward, Tock and I.
I want to share some of Lisa's email (Lis, I hope you don't mind): If done well, this move will be liberating and self-actualizing-- that's what I have to keep in mind. Not the stress of getting rid of things, but the glorious feeling of starting over. (We don't get indefinite chances to do it.) Not the worry about how I'll possibly manage X when I'm in a strange place and thousands of miles from home, but the excitement of being able to experience a whole new side of me. And knowing that I'll land with my feet under me, always with my feet under me. Isn't she great? And even though I'm heading back, instead of out into the world, I also look forward to being able to experience a whole new side of me in the places I used to call home after having my eyes opened abroad.
So it begins that I will continue to try to go with the flow, and take life moment by moment and not for granted, because regardless of the plans I make, life always seems to throw me for some sort of unexpected loop and everything changes. Here! In reading a fascinating article on space and stuff in a December 2009 National Geographic issue, I fell in love with this sentence: As the biologist Jacques Monod once put it, life evolves not only through necessity - the universal working of natural law - but also through chance, the unpredictable intervention of countless accidents. And as I've been reminded by countless friends and family members, we don't get indefinite chances for brand new starts and must take them full-on as they come. I'm excitedly terrified for whatever will happen next, but whatever is thrown at me, may I always land on my feet. Just call me "Kate the Cat."
I just got a lovely - wonderful, really - email from one of my oldest and dearest friends, Lisa who is in a similar situation of readying herself to move halfway across the world into the great unknown. She's going to be an intern at the Economist in London, England! I'm so unbelievably proud and in awe of her - she's always been the smart one, and I love her enormously for that. And I so wish you could hear how I'm saying "London, England." A mix of mid-west, a pinch of island, and a dash of valley girl chewing bubble gum. (I'm gonna fit right in at home. I still say "fur" instead of "for" and Americanize everything that crosses my vocal path.) Anyway, she was able to write so eloquently what's been swirling around in my head these past six months. I've felt like I'm in Limbo, not ready or willing to settle here because I knew there was something next, someplace else and I didn't want to get attached, but then I grew to love it more than I imagined; met wonderful people who turned into surprising friends, unintentionally fell into routine, and now it's time to go (such is life). It's not that I don't appreciate where I am, quite the opposite, I can't get over the fact that this is what I've turned into my life. And it's awesome and it's scary and it's wonderful and it's lonely, but I've been out here loving every minute of it, even when I was crying or fuming, because I was learning. And now, as I whimper at my roommate's computer (mine crashed, restored and apparently doesn't have the components for the internet!! Technology hates me), looking around the wonderful, colorful mess I've created, and the palm fronds swaying in the tropical breeze, I can't help but be grateful for this moment and every moment that's preceded it in helping me get here, no matter how hard or heart-breaking the journey has been.
While there's a part of me that's been clawing at the walls, trying to get out of this place months ago, there's also a part of me that's clinging to the doorframe and shouting, "Let me stay! If only for one more day! Let me stay!" and perhaps that's why I extended two weeks after my contract end date. I first remember the feeling of time fleeing when I returned to Chicago in May 2007. I had an internship with Chicago Dramatists, and as the summer drew to a close and I was preparing to return to Columbia, MO to finish my super senior semester, I imagined myself walking the giant dog of time (like Tock on the cover of the Phantom Tollbooth), and while I was trying to stroll along and enjoy the scenery, he was running down the street, chasing after a squirrel, and no matter how hard I tried to restrain him, he just pulled me along with my heels dragging on the pavement. It's happening again, and no matter how hard I fight it, we're rushing forward, Tock and I.
I want to share some of Lisa's email (Lis, I hope you don't mind): If done well, this move will be liberating and self-actualizing-- that's what I have to keep in mind. Not the stress of getting rid of things, but the glorious feeling of starting over. (We don't get indefinite chances to do it.) Not the worry about how I'll possibly manage X when I'm in a strange place and thousands of miles from home, but the excitement of being able to experience a whole new side of me. And knowing that I'll land with my feet under me, always with my feet under me. Isn't she great? And even though I'm heading back, instead of out into the world, I also look forward to being able to experience a whole new side of me in the places I used to call home after having my eyes opened abroad.
So it begins that I will continue to try to go with the flow, and take life moment by moment and not for granted, because regardless of the plans I make, life always seems to throw me for some sort of unexpected loop and everything changes. Here! In reading a fascinating article on space and stuff in a December 2009 National Geographic issue, I fell in love with this sentence: As the biologist Jacques Monod once put it, life evolves not only through necessity - the universal working of natural law - but also through chance, the unpredictable intervention of countless accidents. And as I've been reminded by countless friends and family members, we don't get indefinite chances for brand new starts and must take them full-on as they come. I'm excitedly terrified for whatever will happen next, but whatever is thrown at me, may I always land on my feet. Just call me "Kate the Cat."
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