The whole life of man is but a point in time; let us enjoy it.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I’ve been extremely, mind-bendingly unhappy lately.
The thing about unhappiness like this is that it isn’t dissimilar to quicksand. Walking along, nothing will seem amiss save for a gradual downward slope – and before I know it, I’m up to my neck and can’t haul myself out. It takes a lot of energy just to keep my head above it. Treading water requires a tremendous amount of effort.
In short, I’ve lost “it” – “it” being pixie dust, zazz, joie de vivre, whatever you want to call the happiness and energy that I first experienced upon moving out here. My weekly Gratitude Lists have sputtered out spectacularly. My friends and family, bless them, have been putting up with a constant litany of homesickness and self-deprecation from me for the better of three weeks now, and I’ve all but stopped singing at my work. A Disney Princess, I am not (at least currently).
I’ve figured out the secret of most College Programs and why they only last about four months: If what I’m going through is any indication, at around the three-month mark, we get sick of this and want to go back home! It takes a very special and driven sort of person to want to stay with the program or, god forbid, extend and apply for the professional internships.
I am not a very special and driven sort of person; all I can think about is my cat, my garden, the flowers I want to grow and the beautiful things I want to cook, the clothes I want to sew, the classes I want to take and the things I want to learn. You had better believe I’m making a list of all the things I’m going to do when I get back to California!
Along with the homesickness, the thought of self-terminating has been constantly running at the back of my mind – especially on the days where I’m tired and sore beyond belief, my coworkers are infuriating, and my shifts are unbearable. (I am not too proud to admit that on a recent shift I was sobbing hysterically the last twenty minutes before I clocked out, one step away from barging into my manager’s office and quitting on the spot.)
What keeps me from self-terming is a strange sort of masochism, my awesome flatmates encouraging me to stay strong and live it up while I’m here, a determination to not disappoint myself or anyone else, and the knowledge that I am supposed to be here and I am supposed to be learning from this. If I can’t enjoy it, then at the very least I can learn from it, right?
The Plutarch I quoted at the beginning of this post appeared to me out of the blue a few nights ago. A very well-timed fragment of serendipity, I’ve been ruminating on it for the past few days – however brief and understated it is, it is comforting to keep in mind.
To be honest, I’m not sure what the point of this post is. Perhaps it’s to get these thoughts off of my chest, as though exorcising them thoughts will improve my situation – or at the very least, my peace of mind. Early in this blog’s infancy I promised myself I wouldn’t dump nonconstructive whining here. (Is constructiveness in the eye of the beholder, for lack of a better term?) Or perhaps this is productive and constructive – perhaps this is to be a public record of my thoughts and feelings; a reminder for the future that this unhappiness is only a very brief moment in the entirety of life.