RE: The World Is My Oyster (Even If I Don’t Want It To Be)
Hello again!
I feel as if a new greeting is necessary, as it has been quite a while since I have done one of these. (It has also been almost as long since I have written in my physical diary, but I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse about my supposedly casual undertakings, so let's agree that that is neither here nor there.) On January 1st, when I just so happened to both write my last RE: column and purchase said diary, I blabbered about my Ins and Outs for the year, trying to stay in the UK and making sure I didn't feel like a failure if I had to come home.
Well, let me catch you up.
None of that came to pass.
My Ins & Outs are all but shattered (though I fully intend to master them properly in the next eight and a half months). I am currently firmly planted back in America. And I haven't added to this collection of ramblings since my arrival because I was not at all happy about it (Devastated is probably a more suitable word, to be frank, but I am trying to move forward.)
Since so much has changed, allow me to set the new scene. As I type this, I am seated on my parents' back porch in Baltimore, sipping on a Vanilla Crown and Coke, which is actually Vanilla Crown and Pepsi Zero because that is the only similar drink I found in the house (My sincerest apologies to the diet soda fanatics out there, but soda with no sugar is absolutely disgusting and adding agave syrup as a sweetener only gets you so far.) I have a dog wedged as tightly between my legs as she can manage and a cat curled up on a couch cushion within arm's reach. All external and internal disappointments aside, having my pets back has been extremely lovely.
I think the main reason leaving London felt so much like having a rug pulled out from under me is because, in my heart of hearts, I always figured it would work out the way I wanted it to. I have mastered the art of the pivot because I tend to assume things will work out in my favor more often than not, and when they don't, my brain, my soul and my heart run a full-scale delusion play to convince me what I really wanted was something else entirely. Take it from a pro. That only works for so long.
When you hit a wall (i.e., go after the thing you've actually wanted since the beginning and come up empty), every single axis you've spun on becomes glow-in-the-dark and not in the charming, stars-on-the-ceiling kind of way. They shine like the irritating, overly bright gleam of a street lamp perfectly centered against a bedroom window with no blinds or curtains that chases away sleep at all costs, no matter how tired you are. Your mind whirls for hours on failure after failure and misguided attempt after misguided attempt until the sun peaks up over the horizon, and you question if there is anything that you are actually good at. At least, mine did. I tossed and turned until I was left with absolutely no sense of what direction I was meant to head in next.
The job market being what it is, the thing that I truly want –to live in London– is not something that I can currently have. So now I have no internal compass to guide me. I am missing that pull of desire that shows me True North. The ironic thing is because I sold almost all of my possessions when I decided to move to a foreign country, my physical state of being is in league with my mental one. Aside from my two small balls of fluff and claws, I have nothing to tie me down to anyone or any place. The world, for once, truly is my oyster.
I don't think I have ever really stopped to consider what that phrase means. Yes, it's something we like to tell high school and college graduates as they step into a new phase of life. It means all paths are open before you. But is that really something we're meant to find encouraging? For the first time in my life, I cannot seem to get my footing. There may be a path stretched out ahead of me, but it is covered in fog. I have no idea if I am meant to go left-back to Los Angeles, and the majority of my friends–or head right– chose to start over somewhere completely new. As you can imagine, that makes it extremely hard to take the next step. I don't know what jobs to apply for. I don't know where to look for apartments. My life, for all intents and purposes, is in the wind. For a type A over-achieving planner such as myself, I find this absolutely terrifying. If I thought moving to London took guts, congratulations to me, I have leveled up. This is the final boss (at least, I hope it is).
At this particular moment in time, I have enough of my wits about me to believe that, in the end, this will most likely be a good thing. Not a lot of people get the chance to start their life over from scratch, or maybe the real answer is that not many people are brave enough to, even when they wish for it. To be honest, I am not sure that it is starting anew in general that takes courage. I think it is doing so when the general timeline of society deems that you should instead be happily settled or valiantly building a career. At 29 (Oh, yes. That is something else that happened. I am officially in the final year of my twenties. Wahoo.), my stomach drops ever so slightly when I apply to entry-level positions meant for new graduates because, as we have established, I have no idea what I want so maybe a slight career change is in the cards. Who knows? After all, if 18 and 22-year-olds can claim the world is their oyster, I guess it is mine too – even if the definition is begrudgingly bestowed.
<3,
Sydney
