Now, the state of crisis seems to be settling down. (Knock on wood!) I'm starting to feel more secure, or at least rooted, here. My energy level is up, which means I'm getting a lot of good things done at work, and I'm usually in a pretty good mood.
But it also means I'm getting antsy. Last year I started working out regularly, hoping it would help me focus on my work, and it did -- but then I just had so much energy I would stay at the gym for an hour... then an hour and a half... then two hours... then I'd go there after class and stay until I had to run up to Buntrock as the caf was closing. I don't know how much weight I lost, and that really had nothing to do with me being there. The point is, I realized that I was living with this unsettled feeling of something being wrong and unresolved in my life outside of the gym.
Which is where I am now. Now that I'm settling into my job, depositing a few paychecks, and putting together a living space I'm excited about, one of my old discarded worries is resurfacing.
I'm lonely.
Back in The Bubble, my friends and I would sit around in the quad on a sunny afternoon, eating ice cream and dancing around barefoot, and worrying that once we left St. Olaf we wouldn't be able to meet anyone as cool as the people we were with. We always reassured each other, "Oh, but you're interesting and fun and smart... and plus you're cute! You won't have any trouble at all." And I legitimately put it out of my mind as a non-issue.
But here I am, stuck in between 5 different highways, 15 minutes from just about any-where, and I don't know which-where to go. I know that I could meet people I'd get along with at a poetry open mic: there are none, it seems, in the entire state of Delaware. (Guess I'd better go to Philly...?) I could meet people at a coffee shop, if I went there often enough. I could meet people in liquor stores or co-ops or bars (not ideal) or even at the post office. There is the endless problem that 18-to-25-year-olds seem to exist off the beaten track of any place I've ever been: it's the same in Amsterdam, in St. Croix Falls, and even in Queens when I went out with Karin and Audrey. We're an incredibly hard demographic to tap. We probably just drink beer with our friends in our basements.
The thing is, it takes time. I want to meet someone I've seen around often enough, or who knows the people behind the counter at any given establishment, that it stands as a character reference. Alex wrote me this beautiful email about introductions, and how the most important people in our lives never get introduced because it's too complicated to go into it. I want that. But I have to put in the time to get my own character reference and my own inarticulable introduction, and we all know I'm the most impatient person ever.
It will come. It always does. It'll hit the breaking point and I'll go and do something drastic that will just blow the whole problem right out of the water. That's usually how I fix the big things.
And until then I'll just be aware of my anxiety, settle into my new space. I'll do things I enjoy doing, and on the way there I'll make eyes at hotties in cars that pass me on the highway. I'll ask for a Saturday off now and then so I can go visit my brother, call my far-flung mainstays on the telephone, and try to track down some Delaware postcards for the far-flung people that have had a positive impact on my life. I'll make it. I always do.
But it also means I'm getting antsy. Last year I started working out regularly, hoping it would help me focus on my work, and it did -- but then I just had so much energy I would stay at the gym for an hour... then an hour and a half... then two hours... then I'd go there after class and stay until I had to run up to Buntrock as the caf was closing. I don't know how much weight I lost, and that really had nothing to do with me being there. The point is, I realized that I was living with this unsettled feeling of something being wrong and unresolved in my life outside of the gym.
Which is where I am now. Now that I'm settling into my job, depositing a few paychecks, and putting together a living space I'm excited about, one of my old discarded worries is resurfacing.
I'm lonely.
Back in The Bubble, my friends and I would sit around in the quad on a sunny afternoon, eating ice cream and dancing around barefoot, and worrying that once we left St. Olaf we wouldn't be able to meet anyone as cool as the people we were with. We always reassured each other, "Oh, but you're interesting and fun and smart... and plus you're cute! You won't have any trouble at all." And I legitimately put it out of my mind as a non-issue.
But here I am, stuck in between 5 different highways, 15 minutes from just about any-where, and I don't know which-where to go. I know that I could meet people I'd get along with at a poetry open mic: there are none, it seems, in the entire state of Delaware. (Guess I'd better go to Philly...?) I could meet people at a coffee shop, if I went there often enough. I could meet people in liquor stores or co-ops or bars (not ideal) or even at the post office. There is the endless problem that 18-to-25-year-olds seem to exist off the beaten track of any place I've ever been: it's the same in Amsterdam, in St. Croix Falls, and even in Queens when I went out with Karin and Audrey. We're an incredibly hard demographic to tap. We probably just drink beer with our friends in our basements.
The thing is, it takes time. I want to meet someone I've seen around often enough, or who knows the people behind the counter at any given establishment, that it stands as a character reference. Alex wrote me this beautiful email about introductions, and how the most important people in our lives never get introduced because it's too complicated to go into it. I want that. But I have to put in the time to get my own character reference and my own inarticulable introduction, and we all know I'm the most impatient person ever.
It will come. It always does. It'll hit the breaking point and I'll go and do something drastic that will just blow the whole problem right out of the water. That's usually how I fix the big things.
And until then I'll just be aware of my anxiety, settle into my new space. I'll do things I enjoy doing, and on the way there I'll make eyes at hotties in cars that pass me on the highway. I'll ask for a Saturday off now and then so I can go visit my brother, call my far-flung mainstays on the telephone, and try to track down some Delaware postcards for the far-flung people that have had a positive impact on my life. I'll make it. I always do.
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