Six Days From Now
It's been a while. Let me get everyone up to speed.
I graduate in less than a week.
Six days from now, I will have a master's degree. (Better yet, I will be free of my master's program.)
In one week I will drive a large moving van (slowly and carefully) away from Oh-so-flat Ohio and O-so-sucky OSU, toward the rolling hills of Pennsylvania.
In a few weeks, I start a job that many voice therapists would kill for. The pay is lousy compared to what my peers are making, but it's a promising job -- right out of the gate.
Meanwhile, I have three weeks off. No papers, no exams, no treatment plans, no deadlines. Just time.
It's all good. Graduation + Time Off + Job = Happy Jo, right?
Jo, feeling so bad.
Maybe it's because someone is tightening a giant vice around my torso.
Maybe it's because someone has wrapped heavy chains around my legs.
Maybe it's because there is a miniature chorus line tap dancing on my frontal lobe.
If you were a follower of my blog, you will have noticed that I haven't written for many months. It was not for lack of material. From the very beginning, OSU has provided me with volumes of stories. However, I felt it would be unwise to put them in writing in such a public forum. But I think it's safe to report simply that my experience at OSU has been a largely unpleasant one. And that's being polite.
I should be jumping for joy that it's over. I should be throwing parties and taking any and every opportunity to celebrate. I should be enjoying myself.
Instead, I feel like I've driven my car at top speed to the side of a cliff but waited too long to put on the breaks. Now I'm teetering on the edge -- can't move for fear of falling.
There are many possible reasons for this, as my friends have helped me realize.
Moving is hard.
I have heard that moving is second only to loss of a loved one in most stressful life events. (I've also heard that it's 5th on the list, 7th on the list -- suffice to say, it's in the top ten.)
Change is hard.
I used to boast that I loved changed -- sought it out, longed for it. Seeking change was part of my identity (hence the name of my blog). Lately I'm not feeling it. I'm not happy where I am, but at least I know what to expect. But a new city? New people? Starting all over again -- AGAIN?! Trying to make new friends -- at my age? Please. There must be another option.
Moving is expensive.
And I'm broke. I chose a job that I think I can really love instead of one that pays well. That was my choice. But believe me, there are moments where I wish I'd held out for more money. Moments such as this morning as I once again pored over the apartment listings on craigslist and found that almost everything is out of my price range. Moments such as yesterday when I was booking the moving van and realized I would have to borrow from my parents in order to pay for it. Moments such as three days ago as I was pumping gas and suddenly remembered I had $11.53 in the bank (I managed to stop the pump at $10.05 -- Whew!). In those moments, I think about the more lucrative opportunities I passed up or never even considered.
I feel like my life is on Repeat Playback.
That's the big one. I'm doing this -- moving, starting over -- yet again. When I was 24 I moved to New York to start my life. At 27, I realized my life wasn't in New York, so I moved again -- back to Pennsylvania to be near my family. At 31, when I decided I was tired of waiting for my life to begin, took off across the country to find said life. Six months later I was back in Pennsylvania wondering what, after such a failed leap of faith, I could possibly do next. Three weeks after that, I was back in New York City. Doing what? Starting over. Again. Fast forward another three years, and I had finally figured it out: grad school, speech-language pathology, voice therapy -- that was the ticket for me. Onward to Ohio. To start over. Again. Now, here I am at 37 (and 3/4) years old. New city. New job. New life. Starting. Over. Again.
Me and My Shadow.
There are things in life that a person is not meant to go through alone. Moving may not be at the top of the list, but it's certainly on the list. And there is something about doing this Alone, Again that feels like a slap in the face. Don't get me wrong. I'm an independent woman, and I'm proud of what I've accomplished. But there are times when it would be nice to have a partner. Someone to help me make decisions. Someone to sit down and talk things over with. Someone to keep me from doing stupid things. Someone who, by definition, is there to help me get through this kind of thing. (And all you non-single people out there who are tempted to point out that it's never perfect, that being in a relationship doesn't solve all your problems, I'll ask that you kindly keep your comments to yourself. Unless, of course, you are, in fact, about to move to a new city, alone, for the third or fourth time.) As it is, I have my mom and my closest friends on speed-dial, and I shuffle through them like songs on an iPod to see which lucky loved-one will carry the burden this time. And let's face it -- I may be an independent woman, but never in a million years did I think I would be alone at 37. Most of the time, it doesn't bother me. But there are times when it stings like rope burn. And this is one of those times. (You may be tempted to point out that, if I didn't dump every man I ever dated, I would have someone to help me pack the moving truck. I suggest you resist that temptation).
So here I sit in my pajamas in the middle of the afternoon, my computer in my lap, desperately hoping that someone will post something interesting on facebook.
There must be a pill for this.
I graduate in less than a week.
Six days from now, I will have a master's degree. (Better yet, I will be free of my master's program.)
In one week I will drive a large moving van (slowly and carefully) away from Oh-so-flat Ohio and O-so-sucky OSU, toward the rolling hills of Pennsylvania.
In a few weeks, I start a job that many voice therapists would kill for. The pay is lousy compared to what my peers are making, but it's a promising job -- right out of the gate.
Meanwhile, I have three weeks off. No papers, no exams, no treatment plans, no deadlines. Just time.
It's all good. Graduation + Time Off + Job = Happy Jo, right?
Jo after completing her comprehensive exam.
Then why do I feel so bad?
Jo, feeling so bad.
Maybe it's because someone is tightening a giant vice around my torso.
Maybe it's because someone has wrapped heavy chains around my legs.
Maybe it's because there is a miniature chorus line tap dancing on my frontal lobe.
If you were a follower of my blog, you will have noticed that I haven't written for many months. It was not for lack of material. From the very beginning, OSU has provided me with volumes of stories. However, I felt it would be unwise to put them in writing in such a public forum. But I think it's safe to report simply that my experience at OSU has been a largely unpleasant one. And that's being polite.
I should be jumping for joy that it's over. I should be throwing parties and taking any and every opportunity to celebrate. I should be enjoying myself.
Instead, I feel like I've driven my car at top speed to the side of a cliff but waited too long to put on the breaks. Now I'm teetering on the edge -- can't move for fear of falling.
There are many possible reasons for this, as my friends have helped me realize.
Moving is hard.
I have heard that moving is second only to loss of a loved one in most stressful life events. (I've also heard that it's 5th on the list, 7th on the list -- suffice to say, it's in the top ten.)
Change is hard.
I used to boast that I loved changed -- sought it out, longed for it. Seeking change was part of my identity (hence the name of my blog). Lately I'm not feeling it. I'm not happy where I am, but at least I know what to expect. But a new city? New people? Starting all over again -- AGAIN?! Trying to make new friends -- at my age? Please. There must be another option.
Moving is expensive.
And I'm broke. I chose a job that I think I can really love instead of one that pays well. That was my choice. But believe me, there are moments where I wish I'd held out for more money. Moments such as this morning as I once again pored over the apartment listings on craigslist and found that almost everything is out of my price range. Moments such as yesterday when I was booking the moving van and realized I would have to borrow from my parents in order to pay for it. Moments such as three days ago as I was pumping gas and suddenly remembered I had $11.53 in the bank (I managed to stop the pump at $10.05 -- Whew!). In those moments, I think about the more lucrative opportunities I passed up or never even considered.
I feel like my life is on Repeat Playback.
That's the big one. I'm doing this -- moving, starting over -- yet again. When I was 24 I moved to New York to start my life. At 27, I realized my life wasn't in New York, so I moved again -- back to Pennsylvania to be near my family. At 31, when I decided I was tired of waiting for my life to begin, took off across the country to find said life. Six months later I was back in Pennsylvania wondering what, after such a failed leap of faith, I could possibly do next. Three weeks after that, I was back in New York City. Doing what? Starting over. Again. Fast forward another three years, and I had finally figured it out: grad school, speech-language pathology, voice therapy -- that was the ticket for me. Onward to Ohio. To start over. Again. Now, here I am at 37 (and 3/4) years old. New city. New job. New life. Starting. Over. Again.
Me and My Shadow.
There are things in life that a person is not meant to go through alone. Moving may not be at the top of the list, but it's certainly on the list. And there is something about doing this Alone, Again that feels like a slap in the face. Don't get me wrong. I'm an independent woman, and I'm proud of what I've accomplished. But there are times when it would be nice to have a partner. Someone to help me make decisions. Someone to sit down and talk things over with. Someone to keep me from doing stupid things. Someone who, by definition, is there to help me get through this kind of thing. (And all you non-single people out there who are tempted to point out that it's never perfect, that being in a relationship doesn't solve all your problems, I'll ask that you kindly keep your comments to yourself. Unless, of course, you are, in fact, about to move to a new city, alone, for the third or fourth time.) As it is, I have my mom and my closest friends on speed-dial, and I shuffle through them like songs on an iPod to see which lucky loved-one will carry the burden this time. And let's face it -- I may be an independent woman, but never in a million years did I think I would be alone at 37. Most of the time, it doesn't bother me. But there are times when it stings like rope burn. And this is one of those times. (You may be tempted to point out that, if I didn't dump every man I ever dated, I would have someone to help me pack the moving truck. I suggest you resist that temptation).
So here I sit in my pajamas in the middle of the afternoon, my computer in my lap, desperately hoping that someone will post something interesting on facebook.
There must be a pill for this.
posted by jolott at
10:22 AM
|
2 comments
