Chapter 2: Moving On?

I’ve just started reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and it really has me thinking. I think I’ve always believed in divine intervention. I don’t think I’ve always called it that; I don’t always now; but the concept has always existed to me. I’ve always thought that everything happens for a reason—good or bad—you’re meant to learn from certain things or they happen exactly when you need them to so you can learn something or take one step closer to fulfilling your ultimate potential. The reason I bring this up is because I bought this book years ago. It has been sitting on my shelf collecting dust and making friends with the dozens of other books I’ve purchased and pushed aside for the sake of schoolwork. I picked it up tonight out of what seemed to be sheer coincidence. I LOVE reading; I fall in love with the language and the imagery, the people, the places. They become real to me and I’m sad when I finish a book and have to say goodbye to the characters I had invested so much time in, so much that I feel as if they are friends who have moved away and I may never see again. I finished reading a series this evening and as always, a feeling of despair and loneliness crept over me at the loss of those friends and places. The easiest fix to this for me is grab something off the shelf and delve into the next universe and when I feel close enough to the characters and am sure they will still be around tomorrow to surprise me with their adventures, I can finally go to sleep. When I went to my shelves tonight I was looking for some fictional book I could drown myself in for the next few hours. I’ve mostly exhausted my fictional books apparently and those remaining were not catching my interest. There remained a few shelves of non-fictional books. These are not the textbook type books that come to mind when you hear “non-fiction” but rather real stories told by people who lived them. These kinds of books have intrigued me for a while now; as I’ve mentioned many times before, I love travel and I love to write. These books are basically people traveling for one reason or another and writing about their experiences and how they’ve grown and learned. I have books like this from China, India, Afghanistan, Mali, and on the list goes. I can’t completely say what made me choose this one, again I refer to the divine intervention thing here, but tonight, I picked up Eat, Pray, Love. I lent this to a friend right after I bought it and she loved it and said I would too, but life went on, one thing led to another, and you know the story. But tonight, I started reading it and I’m only about 30 pages in but it already has me looking at so many aspects of my life—how they are, how I want them to be. The author begins her tale by explaining the relational struggles and changes she is going through; I can certainly relate to that on several levels right now. She explains how she was “culturally a Christian, not theologically” which, I thought was a great way of describing that divide that Christians often point out in our society. She “opens a religious conversation” with God and her life, relationships, work, and travels go from there. Like I said, I’m not very far along yet, but I am certainly intrigued and invested already. She makes me want to get up and go. I’ve said in previous entries how I’m excited to get out and live my own life, how traveling is my biggest passion, how I’m dying to write. At several points already I’ve set the book down, looked around my room, and started planning to pack it up. I’ve already taken mental notes of certain characteristics and stylistics of writing that I would be interested in using for my own future works. I’ve certainly been thinking of how I’d love to travel to the places she talks about. (Again, I already wanted to travel everywhere, this has only made me rearrange the list a bit). I can already see it: my small house somewhere—my home base, a neighbor watching over it as I go off for a few weeks or months at a time—exploring remote areas of foreign nations, documenting all of the highs and lows of my visits, compiling each anecdote into some work to inspire others and instill passions within them as my favorite authors have done for me, coming home long enough to enjoy those close to me until I need to move again so I concoct another trip and head off.

Even now, I pause to collect my thoughts on where to go next with my writing here and I find myself evaluating my room again. I like where I’ve come from, what I’ve done so far, what I value, but there’s still something missing. There’s something inside me that’s urging—more like yelling in my soul—that I need to travel and write and get out of this small town and really do something. I mean no disrespect to my hometown or the people in it; it’s just not my calling. Growing up I always said I was going to move far away. I went through a short phase where I was afraid to move out of the wing of my family but events that followed obviously made that decision for me. But now, things are actually really good for my family; in the grand scheme of things they aren’t great, but for my family, this may honestly be the best they’ve ever been for me. I’m on my own, managing my own responsibilities—car, apartment, insurance, school, work, pets…all of these status symbols that I’m an adult in the U.S. but it’s not where I’m called. I’m not even necessarily talking about this from a religious standpoint—although I’ve noticed that they often (if not always) go hand in hand in my life. I think it’s partly because I just finished school this past week (for the summer that is); it doesn’t help that Conner is getting fixed so I’m car-less and stuck in the house for a few days—it leaves me far too much time to think (did I mention I don’t have cable or internet here either?) so all I do is read, listen to music, and think. I’m obviously not opposed to any of these; it just really gets me on tangents sometimes. I just wish I knew where I was going. If I could (which who knows, I may actually end up doing this for all I know) I would just start packing up my things here in this house. Pack up all the memories and put those into a pile to save and open to recount my life to my children someday; pack up all the things I would want to unpack when I actually find that house with the friendly neighbor to watch over it while I travel; and pack up all those things that I want with me in the here and now, the things that will traverse the globe with me and be mentioned for their participation in one crazy event or another. I want to be completely prepared so that when that door finally opens, that light points the way, I can up and go and just really live. I feel like I’m in limbo, biding my time and waiting to see what I’m supposed to do—I hate that. There is a quote from the movie “You’ve Got Mail” that caught my attention the first time I saw the movie as a child. Meg Ryan’s character is typing an email and says, “So many thing I see in life remind me of something I read in a book when, shouldn’t it be the other way around?” As much as I have been blessed with, I still feel like this is my life. I don’t want to live only in these other worlds, through other people. I’m here, I exist, I’m able. It’s time I started living these things myself.