Out of nowhere I am very worried. I am worried about global warming; about whether I will be destitute at age seventy because at age thirty-one I decided to spend a year working somewhere other than America; about whether my face is always going to look like it belongs on a claw-banged fourteen-year old; about how I’m going to get to the airport next Friday; about where to get my next haircut since the last one I got wasn’t that great—not bad, you understand, just not great; about whether I am going to die alone and unloved; about what’s wrong with me that I came home today at six and immediately took a three hour nap; about whether my mom will have a good time when she comes to visit me in three weeks; about learning how to drive on the other side of the car and on the other side of the road, which I still haven’t done after being here for five months; about how my student loan interest continues to pile up even though I deferred the payments for a year; about why, in our not-very-cold refrigerator, my EasiYo yogurt is sort of runny but my Calci-Trim milk went solid in its carton, thereby denying me my evening cup of tea; about the sudden drop-off in my email correspondence and the concomitant implications for my friendships at home; about whether I’ll still have a job in March; about why I am having a hard time coming up with stuff to write and why everything I have written in 2006 is so bad; about whether I’ll find a nice pair of Capri pants to take to the Coromandel with me; about what will happen if I decide to come home in 2008 instead of 2007. I am worried that I worry to much, especially when I don’t really have any reason to do so at all.
Everything’s fine with me, by the way, mostly, in the world outside my head. Nothing’s wrong. I’m safe and healthy and as privileged, in the grand scheme of life, as I’ve ever been. I don’t know what my problem is.
It’s just that somehow thinking about the future is really scaring me for the moment. A lot of this has to do with money. I’m working full-time and saving a decent amount but it all feels very surface and short-term, if that makes sense; any money I make or save here isn’t real money, you know, in that it’s not for real things like a down payment on a house but rather for things like going to Thailand. I feel a little guilty about this, like, well, fine, it’s one thing to have decided to leave home for a while, missy, but only as long as you get right back into a nine-to-five. None of this wanting to have a little adventure, thanks very much. Back to the fluorescent lighting for you!
I often think about what it will be like trying to find a job when I go back, in 2007, 2008. I think about being in an interview and trying to explain my being here, why I thought it would be okay to take a year “off.” In New Zealand a lot of people go away on their OE for at least a year; it’s a very common rite of passage. Kiwi friends have told me that when they come home and are looking for work again, it’s no big deal to explain a couple of years’ gap on the resume by saying they were backpacking in Europe or Asia or whatever, doing random jobs and traveling around. It’s totally understood, the idea being that you’re more likely to be a stable worker now that you have the desire to go away out of your system. More often than not, apparently, the employer will chat about their OE, how Kathmandu has totally changed since the seventies, man, and then everyone wins.
We might travel, in the States, but there’s not the same kind of tradition, is there; in fact a common point of hilarity that people at my work are often bringing up over lunch in the tea room is how much Americans don’t leave the country. It will be a little harder to explain. (“Why did you up stakes and head to Australasia, again?” “Because I wanted to,” I’ll say, looking at the floor and shifting uncomfortably in my seat). I know it’s silly to be fretting now about job interviews that are years in the future, and I know on some level everything’s going to be fine. On most levels everything is going to be fine. On most levels everything is fine. So why the anxiety? Why am I convinced in some weird corner of my brain that the decision I made to come here, that I worked and planned and saved for so assiduously, has actually been a really bad move in terms of my still-slightly-vague future?
I just see myself in twenty or thirty years, still renting, still shuffling to and from a mid-level vaguely do-goodery job every day, still paying off my student loans, still having the responsibility level of a twenty-two year old. I can picture that life so clearly: dingy, small, all about lost potential. What would really be helpful, though, would be able to see as clearly what to do, now, to make that not be the case. It would be nice to be able to just enjoy being here and not freak out too much. Real life follows you wherever you go, I guess.
Back in February, when I was researching buying the tickets to come out here, there was a sale going on at Air New Zealand wherein you could have a stop on any of the South Pacific for an extra couple hundred dollars, either on the way there or on the way back. You wouldn’t believe how much I stewed over that. My rational, more awesome self though that dude, I should jump right on that, because yay, in-between-coups Fiji! But I’m embarrassed to admit that there was a very big part of me that thought: save your two hundred dollars! You don’t need to go to the Octopus Resort!Isn’t it enough that you’re going to New Zealand, isn’t that plenty of adventure for you?
It sounds silly to say it now, considering how fantastic that week was, but at the time it required a deep breath and an even bigger leap into the unknown. It was really fun and I’m glad I did it: I got to wear my lost bikini, eat a lot of cassava chips, go snorkeling for the first time, and make a really nice friend. I could care less, now, about whatever money I spent on getting there and being there, because whatever it was, it was totally worth it—not only for the experiences themselves, but for the feeling I got when I decided not to listen to that worried, freaked out part of my brain that is taking up such a lot of my internal monologue at the moment.
I just wish I didn’t have to keep learning that lesson over and over again. I wish I could just get it and relax and be done with it, just get on with what passes for my life.
Comments
11 responses to “Worried”
We all worry, I think.. At least I do, and I’d be worried if you weren’t worried (if that makes sense!)
You paint a melancholy picture of your life circa the age of 60 or so, but even the smallest thing you do now might change things totally. You might buy a winning lottery ticket, you might do snorkeling on your travels and find treasure (or even better, Mr Depp in his swimming outfit!) you might even bump into a stupidly tall English chap whilst seeing the sights in Sydney.. Actually that last one is a lot more probable than the Johnny Depp in his swimming costume thing, but I think you get the point!
Enjoy the year (or two), don’t let the more mundane and everyday thoughts about renting, student loans and the like. There will be plenty of time for that back in the US (assuming that lottery win or Johnny doesn’t turn up!)
I know my situation could not be more different from yours, but this entry is singing my song right now. I worry full-time about what the hell I am doing here and how I am going to make it out of grad school with my sanity and a sense of adequate adult responsibilities.
I live in a residence hall, no one outside of my field takes my job seriously, and I am almost 27 years old with no hope of home ownership on the horizon…yet, your adventure inspired me to say eff it and go to Rome next July for a short study abroad course.
It is totally, totally normal to feel this way, firstly. And secondly, I wish that I was more adventurous like you. You at least stared all that fear and worry in your face, and decided to BE MORE AWESOME, so you did it. I’m still learning, even a week out from 32. You and I should just live together in our rented apartment, and save up for those trips to Thailand.
I understand your worries. I spent a couple of years in South Africa in my late 20’s and had much of the same worries. What I have found is that my travels actually make my job interviews much easier. Believe it or not most people are in awe of what you have done and love to hear your stories. Enjoy your travels, the future will be whatever you want to make of it.
oh, chiara. it’s like you took a little peek into my soul. i’ve been so introspective lately, and i can’t seem to shake it. in any case, hope you have a great time with your mom!
Oh, babe. My life is the absolute polar opposite of yours: married, kids, job, responsible, blah blah blah–and I worry all the time. I think it is just how we thinkers are wired. However, I strongly recommend that you just breathe over there and enjoy as much as you can. The real world awaits, it goes nowhere. You do. So go! And then write about your world for us married mommies in Spokane living vicariously through your wild, free heart.
Would you please get out of my head, it’s scary!
I mean, damn. Your telepathic powers have only grown in your journey…
Hey my darling Chiara,
What I am hearing in your post is “I am worried that my life won’t be how everyone thinks an American’s life is SUPPOSED to be.” You describe an alternate choice of a life-path as dingy and irresponsible, and I don’t see it that way. How many people have you known who took leaps in their life, live their life-path so differently from the norm, and you are impressed and awed and amazed by them? Aren’t they the people you feel the most blessed to know, *because* they aren’t doing the expected?
You are that person right now. Enjoy it!
You may be that person in your future, too.
Revel in it.
i think sometimes i have spent too much time worrying about what the future might be/should be like and missed what was in front of me, what’s happening right now.
pay attention to the right now….the rest follows. of course, this isn’t easy. i’m really trying to change the way i think about things but it’s nice to know that there is someone else out there who worries about everything too!
People do not understand The Quest For Awesomeness. They understand steady jobs and rooting down and “why would you want to go *there*?” And we internalize this. We think Awesomeness is for Other People. Crazy, bohemian, artsy types who drink too much and are bound to come to a [deliciously scandalous] Horrible End. Not nice, normal, well-behaved sorts like ourselves, who expect to spend their sunshine years at Shady Acres playing bridge with the girls and maybe sneaking out for the twilight special at Denny’s.
Well screw that! And you know? Part of being awesome is knowing that it’s *not* all laid out, and it’s scary, and not everyone has the courage to get up off the couch and pursue Awesomeness in the manner It demands. We are few. We are Proud. We are occasionally scared shitless and embarassed to admit to people that we still don’t know what we want to do when we grow up (or maybe we do but because it’s *different* and has nothing to do with our advanced degree we are still reluctant to say it out loud), but since no one has yet to determine exactly when that is supposed to happen, It Doesn’t Matter. It Just Doesn’t Matter! It Just Doesn’t Matter! It Just Doesn’t Matter!
I’m not saying that long term financial planning is a bad thing. But spending a lot of time worrying about when you’re 60 when you practically just turned thirty is, well, Not Awesome. The complete antithesis of Awesome, in fact. So shake it off, rub some dirt in it, and get back in The Game!
Your worries pale before your awesomeness! Also before this octopus! http://blog4video.com/?p=51