Which means that it'll probably be a shoddy bit of writing, as I'm not feeling remarkably inspired. Just cheesed off at the temperamental internet.
Yesterday was four weeks. Four weeks in Ireland. Four weeks since my encounter with the strict immigration officer. Four weeks since I hugged my mother goodbye in the Denver airport terminal, promising to write and Skype and all that long-distance jazz. Four weeks since I rolled my lime green bag through the screen door of the Grand Junction home, feeling a hard brick in the back of my throat and a stinging in my eyes as I thought about all the happy memories living behind those green and red and yellow walls. Four weeks since my thank-you dinner of French onion soup, steak tartare, and chocolate espresso creme brulee tart with Janet, Dave, and Rudy.
Four weeks since my last afternoon gossiping with Judy whilst dead-heading the peonies and digging up yet another "tree of hell".
Four weeks away from the familiar... the expected... the comfort of routine.
Four weeks away from all of these things gives one a strikingly clear perspective of oneself. All the toothpaste and dust and fingerprint smears are erased from the mirror, and you see clearly the sickly color of your own skin... the freckles, moles, ingrown hairs, and acne are all glaringly apparent now that the conveniently spattered stains have been removed.
Being in Grand Junction had become an excuse for me. A way to justify behaviors and personality traits I didn't like. And why not? So many painful events had transpired in that place. Blaming the local was easy and made sense to me. It made sense to think that when I left the parks and alleyways and supermarket aisles that triggered the ghosts of my PTSD, I would find peace. And if I could burden my ghosts with that bit of pain, why not burden the bloody town with all of it?
"Once I leave Grand Junction, I'll feel motivated again."
"Once I leave this person, I'll feel more secure in myself."
"Once I leave this work environment, I'll find my happiness again."
"Once I leave this toxic community, I'll stop being so damn cynical and bitter."
"Once I leave the f*cking cold, I'll stop drinking so much hot chocolate and I'll be healthier."
It's disturbing to discover that the ghosts don't belong to the town. They belong to you. And you have to find a way to coexist with them or eradicate them. Because there are no more excuses.
After four weeks of toothpaste-free mirrors, I've learned that all of my issues are mine.
*ahem*
All of my issues are mine.
Grand Junction wasn't the best town for me to thrive, sure -- but it wasn't the cause of my problems. If it had been, I wouldn't be experiencing the same insecurities and fears and lack of motivation thousands of miles away. Traveling like this doesn't give me a new start or a clean slate --
-- it gives me a clear vision of myself.
With this clear vision of myself, I think that my plan A has morphed a little bit -- as plan As have a habit of doing. To deal with my insecurities and fears, I need to be more independent. I need to have the option of staying in one place for an extended period of time and building a healthy community. Because of this, I've decided to get my certificate to teach English, hopefully through Edua in Prague next April. I will also be working toward a certificate to teach acro yoga through acroyoga.org. If I shape my life in this manner, I'll be able to stay in one place for as little as three months to as long as I want (given the work environment is good). It will give me the opportunity to teach acro yoga, travel, write, create healthy communities, and live an independent lifestyle.
Yes?
Yes.
To end this post on a wonderfully cheerful note...
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| Bunny in July of 2013 |
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| Bunny in December of 2011 |
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