I've started at least six posts that never got posted. I blame it on 30% procrastination due to stress, 30% my life being too busy to keep up with, 30% the pressure to write something epic, and 10% Pokémon Go.
In the last week I:
- completed a life changing experience at a training for work that felt more like summer camp and all it's glory
- past a certification exam and thus conquered a barrier I had thought too high (and realized that ironically I was the one that had placed it in front of me)
- spent my last week at work, dealing with all of the emotions of leaving, and finally said goodbye.
- oh! And I also managed to find time to show my apartment to close to two dozen people and get someone approved by my landlords to take over my lease.
And in the next week I:
- will SOMEHOW pack up everything I own and get the rest out of my apartment (hopefully managing to get it to a Good Will and/or Buffalo Exchange)
- will ship my mattress, walk back and forth to the post office carrying one box at a time, cancel my internet, get one last nerve block in, fill all of my prescriptions/carry handwritten scripts for those my insurance won't get cover, get a 6-month supply of temperature-sensitive medicine from a location that's inconveniently located, and hopefully at some point shower.
- take a train across the country, stopping for a six hour layover in Chicago during which I'll hopefully get to see my best friend
- FIND SOMEPLACE TO LIVE
- Arrive in a.k.a. move to a city that's notorious for making basic survival quite difficult
- and start all over. New friends, new home, new neighborhood, same job but new coworkers, new transit routes, and essentially a new life.
I'm.
Oh I don't know.
Scared, panicked about packing, nervous about how I'm going to get around with three rolling suitcases, terrified about New York, eager to get out of LA, thrilled for new opportunities, cautious that winter will make me never want to leave my bed, (honest that that's me now as it is,) ecstatic to find new friends and a new community, hopeful that I'll be happier in a place where I can get anywhere and do anything without having to ask for help, thankful that after getting sick there once before I can now return to my old medical team, neurotically worrying if this will be enough for me to be happy, diligent to at some point act in that city, curious as to who I will be in six months, fulfilled to be close to my people again but hesitant to lean too hard on those friendships, and mostly:
unable to sleep because of how much I still need to do and yet essentially frozen with feeling overwhelmed.
I spent a day curled up with my blanket, and a night of not being able to close my eyes.
I don't know how I'm going to do all of this, and honestly I feel weak, as I know I've done this a million times before. I once moved 13 times in the span of a year and a half.
I moved 5 times this year! And yet the last two were with help, and a lot of this curled up day was spent coping with physical pain. I don't feel as resilient as I was before, physically at least, and I fear that my physical tenacity is degenerating.
But.
That is the voice in my head talking. The one that's constantly in a state of panic. That's running around, too afraid to stand still, warning me about every risk, ridiculing any mistake. That voice fights to win, and isn't afraid to fight dirty.
I can't listen to that voice. It knows nothing more of my future than a stranger does, but one thing is certain: a life spent listen to that voice is not one that I want.
I want adventure, and epic stories, and to feel each day grateful for some incredible experience that I got to live. I want to take risks and to reap their rewards.
I must love this fear. The panic the voice in my head feels. The chaos of an impossible week. The hurricane of mayhem and adventure. This is what it feels like to be alive. This is pursing a greater happiness each and every day.
This is my life.
I may as well love it.
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