About 18 hours after we left Ben's home in New Jersey, we have finally arrived at our final destination, Pertuis, France. I've made this trip several times; Ben even more, but this time was remarkably different. For one thing, we've never made this trip together. This time of year is more often marked by my sinking depression at saying goodbye to my long-distance boyfriend than it is by tremulous excitement touched with breathless, wide-eyed anxiety. All is familiar, yet this arrival is more strikingly different than I had ever imagined. The little type-A child inside of me craves stability and status quo; at the moment, I feel anything but. Time to give little type-A neurotic bébé a wild ride.
At some deep level, we all strive to realize our purpose in life. I feel that I must apologize to myself in my post-college years that I haven't done a whole lot to seek out that purpose. Maintaining the status quo by default won't encourage me to face anew, struggle, wonder, or grow. Before I left New Jersey, I made a pact with myself to do away with the inferiority complex and ignore the fear of failure that so often pervade any uncomfortable new venture I undertake. I haven't wanted something for myself in years, if ever truly. I came very close to unlocking some level of passion and yearning in college, but it was too little too late by the time I shook myself up. But just because I'm no longer in college doesn't mean I can't want and yearn for something truly beautiful. I think I need to get a little uncomfy before I get close to discovering whatever that is.
I've decided to pro-actively have a quarter-century life crisis. I really don't think turning 25 (in less than a month!) is any big deal, but I'm going to use this cliché excuse to my benefit. Hence the #yolo. I already have a college degree, (had) a good job, and a 401k to my name; it's time to freak out a little bit and rediscover what it means to be Emily.
At this moment, it doesn't seem too daunting; I'm writing from a cool room in Ben's old apartment (our temporary home before hopefully moving to Lyon). A soft Provençal breeze is lilting through the open shutters. Indistinct French is being spoken around the corner. To all the world outside my window, it's just another lazy summer afternoon. Perhaps this is the feeling I'll try to recall when I'm inevitably homesick, frustrated, lonely, or so anxiety-laden I can barely take a step out the door: I'll simply summon forth my inner lazy summer afternoon, and all will be well.
(At some point, I promise I'll write about actual life in France; as of right now, that consists of deliriously unpacking and trying to convince myself to stay awake and upright for just a few more hours of daylight...)
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