October marked the eighth move I had made in the previous four years. It has been a turbulent, exciting time to be me. In one sense, some periods of my life can already feel like multiple life times ago. I'm sure someone has remarked more eloquently that nostalgia makes the past so beautiful. It wasn't then, but it is now.
Nostalgia and my nomadic lifestyle combine in a heady cocktail when I try to make sense of the present. I moved here directly before a national lockdown that has no end in sight. I transitioned from my perma-student lifestyle to that of a 9-6 worker. And while I am lucky to have already known a few friends living in my current city, the normal milieus of mid-twenties camaraderie are lost but not forgotten. It has been a shock to the system to be transitioned so callously into this caricature of adulthood due to the pandemic. Now I find myself asking where the grass may be greener.
Was the grass greener when, as a student, my life's purpose revolved around academic performance? Or when I lived with my parents before I had gotten into grad school? Would it be greener if I could lay about and explore my creative passions? Would I even do that if I were to have the time? I had more time before and I have still have some now.
It is so easy to leave a place. It's even easy to leave the people. Farewells start to feel like empty rituals for the benefit of those left behind. So much of who we are is habituated by the environment we inhabit and create for ourselves. A fresh start can be a fresh self. But some problems catch up no matter where you run. And others linger behind. If you've ever returned to the site of something unresolved, be it a city, street, or park bench, you know what I mean.
Soon I will sign a contract for a permanent job. The world will open back up and I will create my new self here. Soon the reasons to stay, to buy my own furniture, get a dentist, and even look for love, will multiply. I wonder if the grass will still look greener then.
Nostalgia and my nomadic lifestyle combine in a heady cocktail when I try to make sense of the present. I moved here directly before a national lockdown that has no end in sight. I transitioned from my perma-student lifestyle to that of a 9-6 worker. And while I am lucky to have already known a few friends living in my current city, the normal milieus of mid-twenties camaraderie are lost but not forgotten. It has been a shock to the system to be transitioned so callously into this caricature of adulthood due to the pandemic. Now I find myself asking where the grass may be greener.
Was the grass greener when, as a student, my life's purpose revolved around academic performance? Or when I lived with my parents before I had gotten into grad school? Would it be greener if I could lay about and explore my creative passions? Would I even do that if I were to have the time? I had more time before and I have still have some now.
It is so easy to leave a place. It's even easy to leave the people. Farewells start to feel like empty rituals for the benefit of those left behind. So much of who we are is habituated by the environment we inhabit and create for ourselves. A fresh start can be a fresh self. But some problems catch up no matter where you run. And others linger behind. If you've ever returned to the site of something unresolved, be it a city, street, or park bench, you know what I mean.
Soon I will sign a contract for a permanent job. The world will open back up and I will create my new self here. Soon the reasons to stay, to buy my own furniture, get a dentist, and even look for love, will multiply. I wonder if the grass will still look greener then.
Boom. Book Drop moment.
But feril. If you look back at how we lived, you'll see the answers just like you wrote here:
Would it be greener if I could lay about and explore my creative passions? Would I even do that if I were to have the time? I had more time before and I have still have some now.
We didn't do it back then and that's over. No point in wondering about hypotheticals. There's real soil underneath our feet. It's up to us to make it green or whatever we want it to be.