-The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
At the end of a long journey, it can be difficult to decompress and figure out what you’ve actually learned. Change is inevitable, growth is almost certain, and at the very least you’re returning to a life that has progressed without your daily contribution.
It’s been three weeks to the day since our return from Paris, and Jay and I both are already noticing the changes. ...
“Have you ever thought about how many clothes you have?”
“Yeah, it’s weird. Are you still waking up at 5:00 in the morning?”
“Sometimes. I keep feeling like I have a train to catch.”
“I miss the French. I miss the way they talk. I miss their bread.”
“I miss Ireland. I think about those stupid wind bushes all the time.”
“Yesterday I went out with my friends. Their work lives sound miserable. Is that what I sounded like before?”
“Pretty much, yeah. Do people keep asking you what place you liked best?”
“Yep. I say the same thing every time -- ”
“Ireland for the people, France for the history, Eastern Europe for the landscape?”
“France for the people, Eastern Europe for the history, Ireland for the landscape.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Doesn’t it feel like everything between high school and the trip never really happened? Being back in your hometown, I mean?”
“Seattle was definitely a dream. The particulars of how we met are Greek to me.”
Sigh. “Greece....”
And on it goes....
And on it still goes. The above was obviously composed a great deal of time ago, as Jay and I have been home for over three months now. In fact, this is my last night on the west coast for a while; tomorrow I relocate to New York City. (Jay is kicking some serious Shakespeare ass in Seattle right now, but he’ll be on his way next month.)
So, once again, my life is tetrised into airplane-friendly luggage, awaiting its new home, and once again I'm contemplating what travel, change, beginnings, and endings ultimately teach us.
With Jay in Portland/Seattle and me in Spokane, this summer left little opportunity for co-reminiscence. Still, our readjustments to life in Pacific Standard Time were fairly similar. For a few weeks our trip was the main topic of conversation with friends, family, and even strangers around our respective towns. Everyone wanted to know the itinerary, our favorite places, and (with surprising candor) whether certain Eastern European countries' economic crises were “apparent” in their tourism. (??!) Then, as all things do, our journey faded into the background of our respective lives. We reconnected with some semblance of normal routine.
I say “some semblance” because of course things changed. You can’t just uproot your life for three months and expect time to stand still. Friendships shift, careers progress, people cut their hair, buildings are torn down... Someone you've lived with for a year and a half becomes someone you’ve spent every waking moment with for three months straight, and suddenly (when you return home as a long-distance couple) your otherwise independent souls have become embarrassingly weepy at the mere thought of spending time apart. Yes, things change.
But returning to my sleepy hometown, living with family again, reconnecting with old friends, hopping back on the “What’s next for me?” train -- arguably the things that were most at variance with the life I’d made for myself in Seattle -- oddly enough, these circumstances seemed to wash over me without ceremony. Even reunions with Seattle friends and coworkers were astonishingly effortless. Psychologically, it felt like I’d imagined my entire life since college. Functionally, it appeared that no time had passed at all.
What I came to realize through it all was this: The changes that result from an extended adventure -- a break from reality, a journey abroad, a quarter-life purpose-quest; whatever you’d like to call it -- have little effect on the world you leave behind. Few people are going to regard you differently than before, America won't seem like a different planet on return, and if a work sabbatical is part of your experience (it wasn’t part of ours) your company and employees are unlikely to change much in their own right. And yet these are the exact anxieties we entertain when we weigh the possibility of leaving.
“Oh, I could never catch up on my life again.”
“I need to focus on my career.”
“I’ll miss out on everything.”
This simply isn't the case! If you have professional focus and a good work ethic to begin with, there’s no reason you can’t be back on your feet in the mere time it takes to recover from jet lag. If you haven't developed these qualities in your career yet, face it: you probably don't have much to sacrifice anyway.
Obviously money is a factor here, and setting a reasonable budget for both the duration of your journey and a month or so after your return is a necessity. If you can afford to do that, though, chances are the other excuses are just sour grapes.
Here’s what did change during my three months away from home and “real life”:
My appreciation for and desire to show generosity.
The way I handle stress.
My perspective on teamwork.
My confidence in my own resourcefulness.
The way I think about money.
My perspective on fear.
The amount of energy I spend analyzing The Past.
The amount of energy I spend worrying about The Future.
My ability to connect with strangers.
My interest in negativism and my tolerance for defeatists.
My relationship with my personal belongings.
My conversation and listening skills.
The ways I purchase and consume food.
My thoughts on marriage and parenthood.
My interest in the seemingly mundane.
The value I place on new experiences.
So what’s the through-line here? What do all these alterations have in common? Simple. All of them were internal. They happened in my head, heart, and soul. They affected and continue to affect my behavior and habits, not my appearance or resume or even my Five-Year-Plan. They go deeper than my datebook.
As I prepare for my move to New York, a large part of me is terrified. There are the obvious concerns (of which many people have graciously reminded me these past few months): making/keeping enough money, finding a comfortable apartment, persisting in the face of great rejection, noise pollution, never-ending crowds, cockroaches... But beyond all that lies a greater fear: The possibility of this new-found wisdom being lost in the rush of a new, frantic, ambitious environment. I returned to this previously abandoned final post (I knew it stayed on my desktop for a reason!) to bear witness to my own dawning sense of self; to publicly preserve a moment of clarity which I hope will continue to inform my future habits and ultimately pave the way to better personhood. If it exists here in writing, perhaps it will carve itself into my heart as well.
Much appreciation is due to those of you who followed Jay and me on this journey -- especially for the kind words of support we received throughout the process. Stories serve little purpose in the absence of ears, and I humbly thank you for lending me yours.
Until next time,
R.
