Instability

Confession: Sometimes I fear my craving for stability will drive me crazy.

The last couple years of my life have been unstable, to say the least. I got back from a dreamy semester abroad, expecting to ease into my final few semesters at school in Los Angeles, only to have the pandemic derail my plans.

(I know everyone is getting tired of hearing people talk about how pandemic derailed their plans. Part of me winces at my own selfish and blasé way of summing up the catastrophic, world-changing event. In truth, I'm tired of talking about it. But the context is necessary, regardless, as its effects on my life are ever present).

The pandemic sent me into a season of living out of suitcases, borrowing spare bedrooms, meeting with professors on Zoom, applying to jobs from someone's living room couch, and laughing in derision when someone asked me to describe my 5-year-plan.

"I'm working on my 1-month plan," I'd say with strained humor. "Who knows where I'll even be in a year!"

In confirmation of my instincts, the last year of my life has included several long-term, cross-country (and ocean) visits and one permanent relocation.

As exciting as it can sound on paper, it was exhausting to undergo. Change can be draining. In the face of new places, spaces, and people, I found myself constantly searching to define myself in new lights. And while I was happy to know myself better than I did a few years ago, I craved a life calm enough to actually be myself; a life that allowed me the luxury of buying a concert ticket for 6 months from now and knowing I'd actually be around to attend it.

Last year, I sensed that the stress of uncertainty was making me unwell. I felt like an anxious, tired grandma trapped in the body of a 20-something. I avoided going out; I came home early; I joined things and stopped going after a few weeks. I found immense comfort in my room, which I had curated with my favorite colors and pretty pictures and a very soft bedspread. I thought that staying ensconced in familiarity, with my favorite show playing on my warm laptop screen, might make me feel better. And if I'm honest, it did.

I realized I had this twisted conviction that as soon as someone found out how tenuous my presence was (What if I got a job in a new state? What if I traveled for a month? What if I moved to another country?), they wouldn't want to be my friend. I convinced myself that in order to be a good friend, I had to have the potential to be someone's most reliable, bestest friend, forever. I convinced myself that in order to start living my life, I had to know it would be permanent. I was so afraid of having the rug pulled out from under me, again.

I was terrified of falling in love with my life and losing it.

So I kept my childhood friends, complained about my lack of new friends, and cried in my room a lot. Needless to say, this wasn't very fun for any party involved.

[I will take a moment here to tell all my long-term friends: I love you dearly, and you have always been enough for me! As I'm sure you can tell by my confessing my deepest insecurities to the world of the internet, your girl was going through it last year...]

Luckily, my brain has now categorized this whole mode of thinking as last year. Something in the clock striking midnight on New Year's Eve has scrubbed the past of its miseries and given me fresh eyes.

The only explanation I can give for this miracle is that I decided that I've had enough. I've had my year of rest and relaxation, and now I feel I can wake up, fully renewed. I've cried my tears and decided that this new year will be for bleeding ink (ink as in writing, and maybe a couple more tattoos).

The only learned lesson I have to impart is that sometimes it's okay to be sad. Sometimes it's okay to give in to heartache, for a little while. I think my soul needed it––to be morose, to be slow, to be safe. To mourn. The good kinds of sadness run their course and leave you feeling clean.

And since my words can only go so far to describe this phenomenon, I will leave you with the lyrics of one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs, “Clean”:

Rain came pouring down

When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe

And that morning

Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean

Peace, love & joy,

Anika