No Roadmap
Well, here we are. Just days away from my 30th birthday—the ominously approaching doomsday that has brought forth both deep reflection and culturally-influenced shame and fear. Strange how a number can carry so much weight.
It’s a quiet, chilly evening in my Los Angeles rental house apart from the occasional angry car horn or swift-moving siren on the main street nearby. Freshly-burned palo santo lingers in the air and an empty mug of mint leaves and honey sits on the table next to me. I’m taking in all of the sights and smells and sounds tonight extra carefully because the only sanity I’ve found lately has been in focusing on the present moment. Breathing in, breathing out. Reminding myself of what I’m thankful for. Which is so, so much.
I remember my angsty high school self saying out loud one day that I didn’t want to live a traditional adult life. I felt cramped and insecure between the cultural pressure to either marry young and have kids or chain myself to a set career path for lifelong job security. My dreamy alternative seemed like a long shot back then.
I thought maybe I could move to Paris and ride a pink moped around with a basketful of baguettes. Or, be a painter in an attic studio by the beach with a seagull friend who would fly up to my window with news of the sea.
I never really had a road map. Just the sense that I wanted to live adventurously and colorfully no matter where I found myself or who I found myself with. And, while there have been many amazing snapshots leading up to this point, I’ve always come back to this feeling like I’m floating around endlessly with nowhere to land.
But, I guess that’s the nature of charting your own course, right? Getting cozy with uncertainty.
An inherently uncomfortable concept, uncertainty. When I can’t sit it in any longer, I dive headlong either into the past or the future like a reflex. The past, a ruminating hot pot of misses and mess-ups. The future, a meticulous string of lifeboats that could finally bring me to shore and absolve this endless floating feeling for good. Meanwhile, totally bypassing the very moment that was once a future hope and will soon just be a past memory. The only time in space where things are actually alive and sense-able and happening.
The present.
I’ve retreated to my bedroom at the back of the house now. My white fluffy chair welcomes me to the quirky little desk I bought from a French law student across the city. A citrusy candle mingles with the scent of lavender from my diffuser. And, I’m here, now, enjoying this playful dance with the words on my laptop.
The volume of my worries has been turned down for now as I enjoy the rare space to just listen and be. And, in such moments, the next step is always illuminated. That’s all I can manage at one time, anyway.