I think that every time I come to this space to write, my apartment is quiet and the air outside is dusty and cold. This past season has been a difficult one and I have questioned so much about myself. I sometimes feel that I am correct in my direction, that I am where I should be, but then I remember that so many things in my life are uncertain and I am back to feeling the way I did at 16, 22, 25. Days melt into other days and I feel angry at my job for keeping me late or filled with longing for the simpler times of other country life.
Ben and I have begun talking about moving in the fall, finding a small town to live in before he begins the climb of applying for law school. Chicago has always been my home and like most people who have lived in one city for very long, I am itching to leave.
I woke up this morning and logged onto an old email to search for a distant tracking code only to realize that three months ago a documentary crew associated with The Atlantic had sent me an email believing me to still be in Russia and wanting to interview me and my experience. I was suddenly overwhelmed with desperation to return to my nomad life and seize those strange opportunities that were so abundant at the time. There are still so many blogs that I read where women have chosen to stay abroad and continue to live such deeply colorful lives around the world. Maybe it's not as hard for them to know where to put themselves.
I think about the Netherlands, about New Mexico, about the Pacific Northwest. About Hong Kong. About Tokyo. I think about money, how much money everything is and how no matter how much money I pay every month, the debt I owe from my years as a student does not seem to crack. I worry about my "stuff". Our pots and pans and coffee mugs and my beautiful blue couch that belonged to my beloved YiaYia and how I could never go anywhere without it. These things keep me tied down. I remember experienced expats warning me about this very issue: if you go home, you will get stuff and your stuff will keep you from traveling.
Nothing feels over, but things also feel like they haven't happened yet.