28 december 2004
December 28. Holy shit. I leave tomorrow.
Why am I freaking out? Do I always freak out before a trip? I don’t think so. But it’s been a little while.
I’m in Paul’s apartment in Brooklyn. It is after noon but instead of propelling myself around the city as I planned, I’m still in my pajamas. I have been washing dishes and stamping new year’s cards and generally hiding from the world. I am listening to the particular mix of Edie Brickell and Metallica that only Paul’s iPod can provide, dancing around the bizarrely spacious hardwood floor in total denial. I am not leaving, I am not leaving, I am not leaving.
People keep asking, Are you excited?
I am not excited. I really haven’t thought about the trip at all, beyond the itemized checklist of paperwork and packing that has been growing and shrinking over the past two months, hovering over course reading and impromptu coast trips. My plan has been to deal with each day, and if one day I get on a plane and end up in Amsterdam, there I’ll be. It seems that day may in fact be tomorrow.
The thing is, I have been having a really good life in Eugene. I have some fantastic friends there, I eat local food, I was learning to ride a motorcycle. I was the editor of alumni publications for the art school. And I recently decided what I want to be when I grow up.
But I was happy in college before I went to Australia, happy in Manhattan before I went to southern Africa, still happy in Manhattan before I went to Greece, happy in Brooklyn before I went to Bolivia, happy in Costa Rica before I went to Oregon. I don’t really have reservations about leaving things I’m happy with. It’s a long running blessing / curse. Because the next thing is bound to be good too, or, more accurately, different and new and challenging, which is generally what I’m aiming for.
So what is different this time? It is not that I’m getting older, as has been suggested. An increasing number of my friends are having weddings and mortgages and Long Term Plans, and though it is a good choice for many of them, it is not what I’m looking for at the moment. (I reserve the right to rethink this if I meet a soulmate with an EU passport and/or sexy accent.)
What is different is probably that being a grad student was already new and challenging on a weekly basis. In the past two months I planned the twenty year trajectory of an urbanizing watershed, drafted a thesis proposal, and illustrated the apocalypse. These are all things I have not done before, and didn’t know how to do when I started. So the mid-stream relocation just feels... unnecessary. I was already happily in over my head. Now I’m in over my head, in Dutch.
This is not meant to be bleak. As soon as I check my forty-nine pound bag and find the departure lounge, I know the adrenaline will kick in and I’ll be riding the travel wave as always. In eight months you’ll have to drag me back kicking and screaming.
For now I’m going to find a computer adaptor and check out the new MOMA. Or else, make pancakes and watch Love, Actually. I just watched it last week. I think I’m cramming the familiar.
Why am I freaking out? Do I always freak out before a trip? I don’t think so. But it’s been a little while.
I’m in Paul’s apartment in Brooklyn. It is after noon but instead of propelling myself around the city as I planned, I’m still in my pajamas. I have been washing dishes and stamping new year’s cards and generally hiding from the world. I am listening to the particular mix of Edie Brickell and Metallica that only Paul’s iPod can provide, dancing around the bizarrely spacious hardwood floor in total denial. I am not leaving, I am not leaving, I am not leaving.
People keep asking, Are you excited?
I am not excited. I really haven’t thought about the trip at all, beyond the itemized checklist of paperwork and packing that has been growing and shrinking over the past two months, hovering over course reading and impromptu coast trips. My plan has been to deal with each day, and if one day I get on a plane and end up in Amsterdam, there I’ll be. It seems that day may in fact be tomorrow.
The thing is, I have been having a really good life in Eugene. I have some fantastic friends there, I eat local food, I was learning to ride a motorcycle. I was the editor of alumni publications for the art school. And I recently decided what I want to be when I grow up.
But I was happy in college before I went to Australia, happy in Manhattan before I went to southern Africa, still happy in Manhattan before I went to Greece, happy in Brooklyn before I went to Bolivia, happy in Costa Rica before I went to Oregon. I don’t really have reservations about leaving things I’m happy with. It’s a long running blessing / curse. Because the next thing is bound to be good too, or, more accurately, different and new and challenging, which is generally what I’m aiming for.
So what is different this time? It is not that I’m getting older, as has been suggested. An increasing number of my friends are having weddings and mortgages and Long Term Plans, and though it is a good choice for many of them, it is not what I’m looking for at the moment. (I reserve the right to rethink this if I meet a soulmate with an EU passport and/or sexy accent.)
What is different is probably that being a grad student was already new and challenging on a weekly basis. In the past two months I planned the twenty year trajectory of an urbanizing watershed, drafted a thesis proposal, and illustrated the apocalypse. These are all things I have not done before, and didn’t know how to do when I started. So the mid-stream relocation just feels... unnecessary. I was already happily in over my head. Now I’m in over my head, in Dutch.
This is not meant to be bleak. As soon as I check my forty-nine pound bag and find the departure lounge, I know the adrenaline will kick in and I’ll be riding the travel wave as always. In eight months you’ll have to drag me back kicking and screaming.
For now I’m going to find a computer adaptor and check out the new MOMA. Or else, make pancakes and watch Love, Actually. I just watched it last week. I think I’m cramming the familiar.
posted by tortaluga at 8:12 AM
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