I’ll start off by saying that I feel like something of an asshole for constantly lamenting my lack of interesting things to say, then spouting 1000+ words of apparent opinion, fact, and bullshit.
The fact is that sometimes I do get ideas, concrete building blocks on which to build bloggery. Most of the time though, I’m winging it. This has been true of many things in my life. And continues to be true about this. So here goes.
As of today, I have 2 weeks left here. I am eager to return to the familiar comforts of home, and the warm embrace of a family I didn’t really think I’d miss. I’m sorry to any of you who happen to be reading it. It’s interesting what a concentrated absence can do. I suppose the old cliche about hearts growing fonder is true. But I’d like to think more of it lies in an appreciation for what’s warm when you are in a cold place. Metaphorically speaking, of course. It’s late Spring here and early Winter back in New England.
I recognize that my family, like all of them, have their flaws. But the thing that has become apparent to me here is that the flaws of the families of others are virtually intolerable. The absence of unspoken support, the hazily defined sense that no matter what happens there will be a relationship tomorrow… That’s what tends to get to you. Not that I think these people would kick me out on my ass were I to wrong them. It’s more that my time here has become, increasingly as of late, a sort of countdown to the inevitable. There is no longer a great reason to bond.
I had always thought that the key to my personal happiness was to step outside of my family. To evade their seemingly long-reaching tentacles and rebuild a support structure around myself. Tightly bonded to friends, non-biological family as I thought of them, I could survive semi-insularly (is that peninsulaly?) without worrying about the family and what they think or do. Which was important to me, as I most often considered myself a disappointment.
Now I’m seeing it a little bit differently. Not entirely turned on its ear, but at least its mangy temple is scraping in the dirt. The main reason I felt like a disappointment is that I actually care what my family thinks. The reason I yearned to escape them, to set up self-sufficient, was in fact that I wanted to show them it was possible. And now, having survive three (admittedly rather cushy) months abroad, I feel like I can do it, and it will be all the easier with their support.
This trip has given me a wealth of random knowledge about how I want my life to be. Because here, I don’t have control. Or at least I don’t want to engage in the lengthy arguments that would be required to get it, which, while they likely wouldn’t be heated, would be draining and frustrating. I feel no need to slam my head into that particular wall over and over and over just to determine what we’ll eat for dinner.
And at the same time, living amongst another family has given me ideas for what I would want my family to be, long term. Not the parents and brother that wait at home, but some vague idea of a wife and kids hiding behind the hazy muslin of the future.
I suppose this constitutes, in some boring way, a form of maturity. Maturity is something I’ve been grappling with since I first left the womb of college education. I still think it’s largely illusory, but there are certain facts one can’t avoid. The fact of requiring an income and stability. That maybe spending an entire day off playing video games when you could be cleaning isn’t the best idea. Not that I’m going to turn into Martha Stewart. It’s just an idea.
And most importantly: Maybe moving to a place with a dream of what you will do there is a terrible idea. When I moved to New York, I had grand visions of musical works, attempted acting, writing, whatever creative endeavor I could get my hands into. I wanted a piece. I was scattered, lonely, and confused. And I moved there because I already knew people, already knew places, and thought that I could accomplish incredible things there.
I was wrong. Not because I can’t accomplish incredible things, but because I couldn’t do it there and then. Not with the lack of planning and frankly, sheer ignorance I possessed at the time.
I stagnated and faltered, finding myself unhappier by the day, the week, the month. At the end of the year, I had no idea what to do, so I came here. Halfway around the world to find whatever it was I was looking for.
I don’t think I found it. I think I learned about it by process of elimination. Or sheer necessity. But the important thing is that I have some vague idea of what I need to do, regardless of what I want to do. There are certainly days where I would rather sit on my ass and do absolutely nothing, but someone else’s life intercedes, here. When I return home, I will force my life and my needs to interrupt the cycle of self-imposed bullshit that I’ve been victim to and purveyor of.
I feel motivated, alive, and strangely at peace with all of this. Even though this blog entry in and of itself is deeply embarassing and stupid, on many levels. I find it easy to shout this into the void. I doubt anyone will comment on it, because it’s a sort of… self-analytical coming of age story, set years after one would expect it to occur in a young man’s life.
But, that doesn’t really matter. Because it’s happened to me. And if I can hold onto scraps of it, my life will be better for years to come.
RJC
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