Sunday, July 6, 2014

Day 335 of 365: Transience

I've been feeling pretty weird as of late. I'm about a month away from finishing yoga training -- which, as happy as I will be to not have to be sludging through coursework (and I've definitely hit my limit on that), the idea of being done has been incredibly bittersweet. This project -- which has taken a chunk out of my day-to-day life for the last year -- is now 30 days away from being done. My third manuscript -- which had been in the forefront of my mind for the last two years -- is finished, and I'm not allowed to even look at it until September. And this is on the heels of the release of my collection of essays, which was, for all intents and purposes, my entire life from November until March. Factor in that it's the summertime, when things naturally shift in terms of school years and what happens during the summer, and I'm a hypersensitive fool. It's honestly to the point that show seasons would end and I would be like, "I don't know if I can process this."

You know that feeling you get when a book ends and you're left almost unsure of where to go next because your mind is stuck on the story arc and the fact that it's over? I've been getting that, only sans books.

I was talking to my best friend about this. In some weird way, we went through the exact same type of life experience last year, where everything about our lives changed. On top of moving time zones, she moved into three apartments and ended up changing jobs. Romantic situations came and went and guy she thought she could trust turned out to be selfish and self-serving all along. Right now, she's in an actual career, she has an apartment situation that is actually stable, and, without delving into her personal life, there are healthy influences that could transform into something more. But that feeling in her gut is still there, that feeling like the rollercoaster has just tipped over the edge and you are still a long way from getting your feet back on the ground.

The hardest part about transience when you're no longer a kid is that feeling that you're betraying something by not anchoring yourself down. Here I am, a former teacher, completely stripped of the identity that defined me for four years, who both moved away and found others moving away from what was once the epicenter, who writes with an uncertain path ahead of her, who attempts a new path in life with grounds just as muddy. I don't know what the future will bring, or when it will get completely unearthed again thanks to having children (another reason I'm having this hypersensitive feeling. Being on the cusp of a completely different way of living your life when you've already changed everything about your life is a weird experience).

All I know is that I look back on other times like this -- times when my life would turn upside down and I got a crick in my neck from trying to adjust my viewpoint -- with a profound sense of awe. Those are the memories I hold close. Those are the moments I turn to when figuring out what has defined me. So I don't fear the transience, and I don't dread feeling like I'm still trying to secure the anchors.

I'm not looking for a way out of it. But I will be looking forward to looking back on this time.

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