life's happening(s)

Yesterday I made myself comfortable in a local coffee shop in which I used to work. I wrote a short story while sipping on cold brew, and I opened this account to post here. I wrote the following before receiving a message from a friend asking if I knew that the director at an old workplace of mine passed away: "When I left Iowa in what appeared to be a random rush eleven days ago, it was because I had too many feelings simultaneously bubble up and not enough focus to cope logically. I wanted nothing more than a long drive. Turning an eight-hour drive into a nearly ten-hour trip of scenic detours sufficed."

The perfectly crafted phrasing of those sentences immediately felt like too much--too much focus, too much hiding the basic truth, too much alliteration. I closed this page and logged into another blog which I've ran for seven years. In the past two though, the words I share there have dwindled to nearly nothing. More than that, I've changed the url every time that I learned someone had stumbled upon it. Alas, yesterday I spilled thoughts that I've held in for too many months, and I sent the link to a couple of friends.

In that writing, I focused far less on how to say words and more on what meaning they have to me. I want to try that here, but the vulnerability of less than creatively cryptic captioning of my life feels scary. I'll try it anyway.

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Packing a suitcase too full of clothes, books, and makeup plus another bag of shoes and yet another of snacks (that I knew I wouldn't eat) in 26 minutes (I proudly timed it) didn't occur on Saturday, June 30th for any one particular reason. The list is too long to share, but it included the opportunity to visit my best friend and family before I have a job, the open road that comforts me more than anything else ever has, and the desire to remind myself of my independence. I needed to remember how it feels to not have any ties to anything except for myself. I needed to be alone.

That last phrase might not make since to those who know that I drove to my mom's to see her, my sisters, and my brother. It might make less sense to those who know that I spent a day traveling to and from South Dakota with my best friend (when we'd only met up for lunch). I also visited friends in Colorado, drove through a portion of Wyoming, and traveled to yet another rural Nebraska area in an attempt to reconnect with family members I haven't visited recently. Nobody answered, and I felt the type of alone that I was trying to escape.

A couple days prior someone had told me that I can't just leave the state when I'm heartbroken. Although that was not the reasoning of my actions, it was a phrase that hurled me back to another time that I took a random trip because I had too much to deal with and not enough of it was shared to let others know that. A fight with my first love about me needing to escape my own life prompted her to yell, "All you ever do is run away from yourself," at me when I was packing up to leave her place. She was right. She still is.

What she (and others) didn't realize is that constant movement is the most consistent aspect of my life. The comfort of knowing how to pack a few bags in 26 minutes or a whole house in 6 hours is not one that I expect others to understand. What I do expect is for those who care about me to support it.

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When I left my apartment, my only goal was to find comfort in the decisions I needed to make. The most important decision relates to my unemployment: I have a job offer without a time restraint for a choice, a final interview with a community nonprofit (my favorite type of place), and an interview for a research-based fellowship with the Iowa Department of Human Rights. When I left, I had accepted the first offer only to receive the second moments later. I didn't know how to handle that, so I didn't. I didn't reply to anything with the hope of someone else making a decision for me--someone had to rescind their offer, right?

That way of thinking led to me dealing with the addition of the third offer, while having the first two asking for a response. Communicating with all of them about my other options not only released extra stress but also gave me the power of knowing I can work at the first place anytime in the future. For that, I feel deep appreciation. I trust that I will end up where I should be.

I had other decisions to make, too. In relation to the job situation, I've spent a considerable amount of time planning for the when and where of my next move. At this time a year ago, I shared with my life twin that I planned to secretly move to a cabin in Vermont. I would spend my days working in a nearby small town, and I would use my nights and weekends to finish the four books that I've started writing only to abandon them. The temptation of living out the typewriter-in-a-cabin experience of great writers is strong.

What has always been and still remains stronger is my desire to move to the place that my soul feels settled yet spinning--comforted in the "home" feeling yet curious to find more. Few know that I passed up an opportunity to move to that dream city of mine this summer. That's largely why I have found discomfort in the city I moved to instead. Lately I have realized that I've spent too much talking about getting what I want and not enough time making that happen. It's for that reason that I'm spending more time deciding where I want to go and when.

That reason is also why I needed time to focus on decisions in the most important area of my life: the people sharing it with me.

When I started college nearly three years ago (oh how quickly I graduated and how illogical that decision was), I met someone who I instantly thought would be my go-to for the rest of my life. She was the first love I mentioned earlier. We spent the majority of our first two years together, and when that ended, I felt as if my entire world had. Spoiler: it didn't. Of course, I met many other people during that time and since. Some turned out to be in my life for a season or a reason, rather than a lifetime. For most, that's been okay.

For some however, I've fought to keep them around despite the many times they should have left. Until recently, I found those friendships to still have valuable meaning. This is me telling myself and anyone else that needs to hear it that they don't. In the last two months, I have let go of dozens of people from my past. Those choices are part of why I'm struggling more than anticipated during this post-grad transition. Up until a late-night advice session last night, I felt that those choices were more negative than positive.

Then I heard the value of respecting myself more than the bonds I have with others. I heard truths come out of my own mouth that I'd hidden away. I heard a reminder that what's meant to be always will. Life's happening, but I'm not going to let it simply happen to me.