I've become one of those lap top typing, latte sipping, starbucks dwelling people

The thing I've realized is that none of us really, actually know what we're doing. We're all just fumbling around in the dark, making messes and complicating situations. And I don't know if it's a gamble, each of us painting on poker faces making attempts to win the game at hand, or perhaps we've succomb to the notions of make believe. We find ourselves caught in moonlit dreams, playing at life the way we imagine it, rather than allowing ourselves to exist within the consuming depths of reality. Maybe we're all Alices, falling through the rabbit hole, scared beyond all recognition, grasping at twisted felines and mad hatters for some spec of truth. Maybe none of us really, actually know what we're doing.

My life these past 22 years has primarily consisted of some sort of formal structure, educational systems, carefully controlled environments, a family tree demarcating my life. These have been 22 years transitioning between tiny squares and boxes, compartments, bubbles, a brick house with square windows, a red door, and a chimney for Santa Claus. I'm starting to wonder if all the things I thought were assisting in this path toward self discovery and growth have actually inhibited my individuality. What if all of this so-called knowledge and and room for experimentation has been nothing more than the inevitable result of a structure or institution? What if all that I am is nothing more than a reflection of the spaces having contained this body...this vessel, this soul, the somewhat random structure of muscle and sinew and bone? What if all this has just been some ridiculous test?

College provides one with boxes. Boxes within boxes to organize, categorize, and compartmentalize life. And we all know it's happening as we conform to routine or plans and a certain path marked by specialty or specialties chosen. This can only offer so much room for growth and exploration...maturation. And then you graduate from that world only to find a life void of such containment. Welcome to the vast expanse. Welcome to the "what the hell do I do now?" phase of your life.

I sat in Starbucks watching a little boy shoot blue sugar packets into the trash can- his arms darting upward with certain victory, a smile so pure and simple, the direct reflection of innocent joy. I envied him. Me: 22 years old. 2 college degrees. and unemployment set on by "challenging economic times." I envied that little boy and the profound thrill found in sinking sugar packets into the trash.

I once said that we're all fumbling. Falling through reality. Through space and time, and broken hearts. Broken clocks. Repaired frames and reframed pairings of ourselves and others. Through fiction. Through the moment when you wake up in the morning and still wish you were sleeping. Because it's within the solace of sleep you tread the purest stream of conscience. And maybe this has all just been a test. Maybe this life is nothing more than stories unraveling between our bodies. Between our fallible, complicated, tragically beautiful little lives. This is what happens in the vast expanse. This is what happens in the thick of reality, when you've hit the bottom of the rabbit hole and simply allow yourself to exist within it.

The truth is I'm lost. And even as I say that I'm not sure if it's me that's lost in the vast expanse of possibility and harshness of reality. Or did I somewhere along the way just lose myself? In the moments and experiences I thought I was so clearly coming into my own, honing my individuality and artistic identity...was I really just consumed by this overwhelming force of structure? Was the outside shaping me rather than me having some profound impact on the outside...because of who I am, and what I make, and what I believe in?

Sometimes I think there should be a handbook to life. A book of instructions like Angella Chase said, telling you where to go and what to do. And the macho men of our time would cast it aside, attempting to build the foundations of a life by themselves, whether through intuition or a natural, keen sense of 'how to.' While the careful few would take things step by step, only to ensure a lire constructed carefully, safely, in search of the most perfect product possible. Yet life doesn't work that way. I suppose because none of us know what it's supposed to look like. And we can pretend that we do, we can make plans and develop skills to try and realize the promise of a specific color and shape and classification of life. But in the end I suspect we'd only find ourselves disappointed. Because life doesn't work that way. None of us actually know what we're doing. We're all just little kids shooting sugar packets into the trash. Hoping to make shot after shot, but more often than not, failing, at a seemingly simple task.

anacortes

So I suppose this post is long overdue. I returned from Europe over a week ago. And I feel like I'm supposed to be all amped and looking to write about every adventure and story and evocations of emotion and thought... And I have all of that... stories and memories and moments reflecting back as these glorious images and sounds and phrases in my mind, but I just feel... deflated. I feel deflated.

Don't get me wrong, I had the time of my life. Truly, I saw and felt and experienced and tried and ate and drank and sang and wrote and... and... and. It was phenomenal. But I guess it's like any major event in one's life, that when asked to talk about it or explain it to someone else, it seems nearly impossible. And it all feels like it was yesterday that I was night swimming in Cinque Terre watching shooting stars, or eating pesto and drinking wine while watching the sunset, walking along the Champs D'Elysee, Eiffel Tower in clear sight, or finding myself in awe of The David, strolling the streets of Venice, eating pancakes with Australian friends in an adorable flat in Lyon... And yet, it all seems like a million years ago. Like I was someone different then. Or rather, the time warp and transition back to the US stripped me of this person I had become while travelling, this person I was excited to be and try on... but now due to timing and circumstance and lack of decent pain au chocolat, she's gone. And I want her back.

I feel deflated.

I'm back here, in Maryland. I'm sitting at this little white desk, in my room, in my parent's house, surrounded by yellow walls, feeling small. This room feels too small. This desk, this bed, these ridiculous buttercup walls making all attempts to confine and smother. And I know it's this transitional period. This 'post college- what the hell am I doing with my life' phase. And part of me says that I should just recognize where I am and how I feel and just embrace it... accept it... allow. Allow, allow, allow. Well, as always, easier said than done, right?

I hate the transitions. I believe in them. I understand their purpose. But I hate them. I hate this constant feeling of being in between, of limbo, of uncertainty. I hate the perpetual trap of applying for jobs and searching for new homes and coming up with nothing, all the while wondering if want you think you want is actually want you want... or even, need. And second guessing every decision of every thought and action or hypothetical notion about your future... about the course or direction of your life.

I get that we're supposed to be "growing up" now. That we've entered the "real world" and all its responsibility. But I just don't see what it has to be so hard... why we should have to struggle so much, and get stuck in this place of essentially losing who we are. Losing the strong, confident, independent people we became through college- a challenging transition itself. Yet here we are. Grasping at straws and making grand attempts to simply get our feet underneath us, failing to understand why, after 4 years of formal education and degrees later, we can't seem to get our feet underneath us.

I'm leaving tomorrow for Seattle to attend my grandmother's funeral. My grandmother passed away on Tuesday and that in itself has sent this household into an unexpected frenzy. And while I wish it was certainly under different circumstances, I have to admit I'm looking forward to being in Washington, seeing family, surrounding myself with water and mountains and my aunt's delicious cobbler. There's something about the Pacific Northwest that's restorative in its peaceful calm and radiance of positive energies. Maybe this simultaneous grieving will find itself accompanied by a release... of all the frustrations and sadness and anger and fear... and I'll return here a week from now, ready to really get my feet in place.

Wish me luck.