Two Years

Today marks the two-year anniversary of my return to the United States from my year in France.  It’s simultaneously unfathomable that it could have been that long and unfathomable that it ever happened at all.

I spent about six months (*cough* or eight *cough*) back in my childhood home with my family.  I’m so lucky to have had a place to go, and so lucky that my family tolerated how difficult I was that summer and fall.  I wasn’t happy.  I had planned my entire life out up to that point, and life beyond France was some abstract concept that I had never thought  about dealing with.  I put so much energy into those plans that reaching the other side of them had somehow never occurred to me.  I had wanted to stay abroad–I failed.  I had wanted to immediately find a great job–I failed.  I hadn’t wanted to ever have to rely on anyone else again–I failed.

I was overwhelmed with the feeling of so much failure, along with the thought that everything I had done up to that point had been for nothing and no idea of what I actually wanted to do next, and it nearly destroyed me.  I felt like I was drowning; I could barely keep my head above water.  I avoided friends and family, not wanting to answer questions about my utterly uncertain future.  I got angry when anyone asked even the most innocuous questions, like what I had done that day, not wanting to lie or give the honest list of my activities, which included nothing but watching Netflix, sleeping, eating, and crying.  I spent the entire summer crying–in bed at night, in bathrooms, not-so-secretly behind my sunglasses in public.  I felt defeated.

I wasn’t.  My family had my back, giving me a place to live and a part-time job while I searched for something permanent, hugging me when I needed it, ignoring me when I was being just a little too self-indulgent.  When I received the job offer in Ohio, it seemed like exactly what I needed.  It seemed like my dream job (with the exception that it didn’t have much of an international aspect and I wouldn’t get to use French), and it was a familiar place where I still had a few friends.  At that point, I wanted stability.  I wanted a comfortable job with a comfortable house in a comfortable city, and I wanted to go to work and go home without thinking about anything at all.

The first few months were tough, but easier than the months back in Kansas.  Many of my old friends had moved away, or we had grown apart, and I didn’t have the immediate social network I had expected.  I spent the cold winter going to work and hiding in my house in the evenings, researching opportunities abroad.  But gradually, things got better; I realized that I actually didn’t just want a job and a house and lack of thought.  I wanted to live.  I reconnected with old friends.  I started going to Meetups to make new friends.  I tried online dating.  I made a real effort to take better care of myself.  I did all of the things I should have done in France, and Kansas, and anywhere I’ve ever lived, and it actually worked.

Slowly, I carved out a life here that I kind of like.  I have a solid group of friends.  My job is frustrating and stressful at times, like any job, but ultimately, I’m working on fascinating projects, doing work that I believe in, and learning new things every day.  There are still ups and downs; I’m not sure that I want to stay here forever, and I still think about pursuing other international experiences, but essentially, things are good.

I did learn an important lesson, though.  In the past, I’ve always sought new experiences, usually in new places.  They were always valuable experiences, and I don’t regret any of them, but I’ve realized that, as important as it is to me to have goals, achieving them can’t make me happy unless I can be happy without them.  I need to stop spending so much time planning for the distant future and figure out what positive changes I can make now.  Despite my frequent research on moving to new places, I know now that if I see it as an escape of my current situation, it won’t work.  This time around, I want to be sure that I’m content where I am, with who I am, before seeking something new.  Because I’ve decided that the important thing may not be what exactly I’m doing, but how I’m doing it–maybe the end result doesn’t matter that much after all; the important thing is how I get there.