listen to hear, not to respond

This past Saturday marked four weeks since I moved into the new chapter of my life. That means four weeks passed since I moved to a city in which I knew nobody but me. That means four weeks passed since I moved on...from the people who hurt me, raised me, tore me down, and/or built me up; from the places that sheltered me, let me grow, took me in, or pushed me out; from the things that helped, hindered, or hid.

In that time, I received the blunt end of the same pointed question enough times that if it were a dollar bill I could pay my rent in cash and perhaps even a bowl of fro-yo with copious amounts of bursting boba. But it isn't. Instead, that question ("Why don't you just go home?) is a constant nudge of failure that I felt alone in feeling.

That was until I talked to a friend who feels the same way. Her acknowledgement of our realities is the first thing that has made me feel genuine support. She told me, "I feel like it's something that people just ignore and don't talk about and that's why we feel so alone." Reading that felt like receiving the warmest hug I could imagine. Why? Because she didn't stab my wounds with mindless words--she affirmed that the pain is real.

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When I moved to this new place, I focused solely on my new job. I set out to work. That was all. I didn't have a list of places to see or adventures to take. I didn't have goals to work toward, neither short-term nor long. I didn't have anything except the mindset to prove everyone wrong: my degree in a social science from a small liberal arts college in the Midwest could earn a job within a month of graduation. I did that.

Then I quickly realized that I didn't love what I was doing. I didn't even like it. I felt the levels of stress that I had worked through three years of therapy to diminish just rise up again and choke the life out of me. I felt like I wasn't living.

The day that I quit the job that I started only to prove to others what I am fully aware of was the day that I actually moved here for me. It was the day that I decided that I won't settle for anything. It was the day that I decided to find places to visit and people to meet and things to try.

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Since that day, I have fervently applied to dozens of jobs. That might surprise all of the people who keep asking if I'm working toward anything. I've also applied to a couple fellowships that I would love to have, not just as a source of income but more importantly as a way to put purpose into my life again.

That's the biggest struggle now. Those who care to listen to my day-to-day adventures here know that I have made many new friends (and already abandoned one as soon as she made the "people are racist against white people" claim and then was offended when I corrected her). I have found a weekly open-mic session that, for now, I enjoy gelato and tea while watching the performances, and at some later point, I want to read my slam poetry. I have discovered a new favorite nature spot that takes away all of my stress, and I have photographed barely any of it (which means I have to return countless times).

Most importantly though, I have stayed committed to myself and my path and my plan--despite its changes--to the dismay of anyone who is trying to "help" by beating me with the blunt end of that pointed question mentioned above.

To all of those who know this feeling: this isn't easy, but we are doing it. We are doing this, together. I hear you, and I will continue to hear you and support you. The world needs more of that.