We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now
I am restless. I feel like screaming. I want to break away.
Sigh. Ever since I came back from Europe, I can't quite adjust to life here. I know, I've lived here long enough to understand how things work, to communicate with people in a common language, to get around. It's safe here, it's familiar, I can easily find my way. But. But but but. BUT. This is not home. I am sorry, California; I really tried, New York. I love you all dearly, but you are my foster family. My long-lost blood-family is across that stupid ocean, over on the stupid capricious continent.
And I know that grass isn't greener on the other side. I've seen and lived the struggles over there. I am willing to take them on. Because there is something, and I really can't explain it, but there is something about returning to a land that is your home.
But then, I worry about practicalities. I am too far along in my American career and settling into certain dreams. I am young, but I can't run forever. I am scared the madness in my head won't let me live the humble inspired life I'd imagined for myself. There are rules to life, and guidelines, and I am running out of time.
A calming answer came to me aboard a greyhound bus on the way to Toronto. With Canada as the backdrop (kilometre signs and litre gas stations and centres along the road), these Irish and Eastern European characters whispered hope into my ear. I'm a sinking boat, but God, please take it and point it home. I've still got time...
Needless to say, at this APA convention, I will be making my way to talk to representatives from the division of international psychology. Wish me luck, friends.
2 sighs or salutations:
I can say that I think I know the feeling, but is much less a way than you.
I hope the waters calm down, or at least make themselves more clear.
Thanks. This is definitely a process, but I know I'll get somewhere.
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