Rock On

 

I stole this from a Threadless profile. And I love it.

Life: for a limited time only.

My mind likes to run in circles. Sometimes when I read my own writing I feel like I can see concentric little circles of thought spiraling their way down the page. Likewise, I find that each season holds its own set of cyclic thoughts, memories, and compulsions, and each year they return like clockwork—circling back to remind me of where I’ve been and where I’m headed. 

Spring has forever been my season of crossroads, of evaluation, of decision.With the monumental decision at hand now, I’ve realized something really amazing: There are no wrong answers. There are no bad options. Not anymore, baby.

 I don’t think I’ve ever been able to say that. I guess age and education really do bring some valuable gifts, and I’m so grateful to have gained and realized. With that thought swirling around my head, the decision seems much more of a blessing than a curse. It knocked out some blockage up there and dusted off a whole room full of perennial spring dreams.

 Ever since I found out that a unique and brazen bunch of people set out each year to through-hike the 2,200 miles of the Appalachian Trail, I’ve dreamed of saddling myself up and meeting them at Springer Mt; and each early spring I’m reminded that I’m still not among them, and I wonder why.

I’ve always wanted to travel out West, working seasonal jobs in the desert. I’ve even accepted jobs in the Four Corners states on a few occasions, but I’ve never gone. I want to volunteer in a developing country. I want to actually give writing a go, even if it means selling my eggs and slingin’ Timmy’s coffee… There are so many dreams I’ve thrown away because they just weren’t feasible. Everyone has those, I guess.

But why we choose to toss those shiny little dreams over our shoulders is probably a little more personal. Probably the most common two reasons are: something better came up, or I just had to focus on my career/finances/family… It’s totally understandable. That’s life.

 
Of course those have been some of my common factors as well, but on the other hand I’m realizing that one of the biggest culprits is actually fear. I always sort of imagined myself somewhat less prone to fear (I like to think I grew up like a Kingsolver woman or a London man), but I’m slowly realizing just how much that nasty little four-letter wretch has dictated my life.

I’ve been afraid to commit to going home in case I don’t find a job. I’ve been afraid to stay in case it turns out to be a sad and lonely year. I’ve been afraid to look outside those two options because I worked so hard to get where I am now.

But, when I let go of the fear I can see something really exquisite: there is no expiration date on my career.

I’ve been working so hard for that career pass—that little piece of paper that gets my foot in the door. And here I am, standing fully inside that room, with nothing expiring but my life. Whether I land a job today, tomorrow, or three years from now doesn’t matter. That option will forever be open to me, but some other parts of life may not…

And that brings me to the most powerful fear of all: not being accepted, not being understood, not being approved. We single people often find ourselves in the same really beautiful boats; only trouble is that many of the child-laden powerboat people out there think our sails are vain and inadequate and feel the need to point that out as regularly as the tides knock us around.

Do I sound bitter? GOOD. I’m tired of people shooting pea holes in my sails.

I admit, I’ve caught myself thinking it too: when you get into the real world, you’ll realize why that’s not feasible. But why on earth do we all feel the need to judge other people’s lives based on our own? There ARE people out there who grow up and never marry, never have kids, never settle into a house, career, and square little box. Are they all immoral, degenerate losers? Not even at a glimpse. Not even for a second.

But still, if I told most people that I was going to give up my life and job here in Sweden, go back to North America, get a puppy, work as a sub until next March then hike the AT, they would have a very common reaction: why is she throwing it all away? Why won’t she grow up?   

Yes, I am up on my soapbox, and I am yelling.

 

  

Love ya, but I just don't need your stamp on my life...

 

 

BEING SINGLE DOES NOT EQUATE TO BEING YOUNG AND IMMATURE!

DIFFERENT DECISIONS AND VALUES DO NOT EQUATE TO WRONG DECISIONS AND VALUES!

INGENUITY AND AMBITION IN THOUGHT AND DREAM DO NOT EQUATE TO IMPULSIVITY!

QUIT TRYING TO IMPOSE YOUR VALUES ON MY LIFE!

 

 

 

Phew, got that out. In short, I’ve realized that other people run my life far too much. I think it may be more of a single person’s curse, as it’s hard to forget judgment when there’s no one at home to back you up. I think many of us are seen as younger because our lives are so much “easier.” That’s a whole blog for another day, though.

I’ve been afraid of losing my chance at my career. I’ve been afraid of making the wrong decision. I’ve been afraid of letting my family down. I’ve been afraid of relegating myself to a life without a family. I’ve been afraid of everything. And I had no idea.

I hold no illusions. I realize that I may remain single for the rest of my life and that my family may never understand or approve of my decisions. But what’s most important is that I know that my career isn’t going anywhere, but my life is running out by the second. And no one can find that happy variable but me. I’m going to take it in whatever form it arrives, and I’m going to search for it anywhere I please without fear.

And I’ll welcome all thoughts, suggestions, and constructive criticism. All judgment and guilt will be tossed aside though, because I’m going to make this decision on my own, based on my life and values. Because this life is mine—for a limited time only.

Variable Advice and Happiness on D Day

In grade 4 we read Gary Paulsen’s “Hatchet,” and I quickly followed it up with many of Jack London’s greats. I fed my starving little literary brain on morsels of Northern ice and adventure, scraps of wild men, embers of fires circled by snarling wolves. I grew up yearning for a life of unrivaled adventure and fierce independence.
Before boarding the plane to Sweden last August, my father held me tight and recalled those old dreams, “you always wanted to run away into the Northern woods… This is a better way to have a northern adventure.”

And I’m sure that he was right, but it’s been an adventure of different dreams.

Living abroad is an adventure and a bore all at once. Everything is new and different, and even the simplest things can be a trial. Food shopping is interesting at first, but as you grow tired of living your life by means of pictograms you find yourself cooking the same, safe, recognizable dishes over and over again.

At first the different language exhausts you and interests you, but you shortly find yourself tuning it all out… living in an auditory vacuum. In fact, when I was back in North America over the holiday, I found myself exhausted because I couldn’t help but listen in on every conversation around me—I felt obligated just because I could understand them.

The exciting sheen of originality wears off. You find yourself craving familiar things you thought you hated. I miss London traffic. I miss Hockey Night In Canada, The Beer Store, and even traffic on the 401. I miss giant stores that have whatever you want whenever you want it. Heck, I watch TV now. It’s become my best friend because it talks to me in my own language and shows me all kinds of pictures from back home.

I would kill for a Timmy’s and a breakfast sammich.

People seem to get me wrong all the time though. I’m not miserable here. In fact I quite like it, but Sweden is not my favourite country. I see why Swedes love it: it’s beautiful, there is a system for everything, everyone and everything is taken care of, life is calm and smooth and pleasing. If you fit into the parameters of the system, that is; if you don’t, you’d better enjoy breaking trail.
I’m happy I came here. I’ve met some really amazing people, I’ve had some great life and work experiences, and I’ve seen parts of the world I probably never would have seen otherwise. But I’ve come to a point where I have to make my decision…

Should I stay or should I go?

It’s a tough decision. Personally, I have no life. Professionally, things are pretty solid for me here. Back home that equation stands right on its head. So the question is, does the happiness variable come out equally in both equations? I’ve been mulling it over for months, but now I have an official deadline: have to tell Greg in Mid March.

Another fave author of mine, Terry Pratchett, mused that “the trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.” And that’s the obnoxious story of my decision, it seems.

I’m asked almost daily if I’ll stay. I understand the interest, but really… It’s a bit of a personal question, and it’s not something I plan to tell strangers (or anyone) before I tell my boss. But I guess that’s the thing with Expat communities: we throw away the formalities because we’re all breaking trail on the same mountain.

Over and over again I hear that I “have to stick it out at least two years. I cried for two years, then it started to get better. Sweden is a really great country, you know…” Uh huh. Sounds fun. The parts they forget to consider are great: I have NO Swedish spouse to tie me here, my country’s pretty darn good too, and I have a life—a good one at that—back home. I’m tired of people assuming Sweden is better than Canada and that I was yearning for a life I couldn’t find there.

Truth be told, I just wanted a job.

So remind me again why I want to cry for 2 years? A negligible increase on my maternity leave, a decreased pay, and less medical benefits?? Riiiight. Thanks for the input. I’ll make my decisions and you can stick to yours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously though, I do generally appreciate input. I am just really tired of the assumption that I came here fleeing from some lack of life or worse. I came because I wanted to teach. Now I have, and I wonder if that’s enough of a life to give up all I have at home for yet another year of my life.

I’m also sick of the guilt factor. I’m a teacher, so it’s a given that I care deeply about the kids. I’ve bonded with them, and of course I consider the fact that my mentor class has had a new co-mentor every year they’ve been there. I would love to see them through their final year at our school next year, and I would be proud to have stuck by them and supported them for as long as I could. But, just as I need to consider them, so too do I need to consider me—perhaps a little more heavily.

Yes, I am young.

But my life is finite, and I plan to spend some of it just enjoying—not just struggling and living for others.

I’ve been meditating on a Theodore Roosevelt quote daily for about a month now. “Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checked by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory or defeat. “

I know I appreciate it. I know that it represents how I’ve tried to live my life. But I can’t figure out how it weighs into this decision yet. More on that later, I suppose. For now I’ll be spending my vacation time balancing those equations, searching for that elusive happiness variable.

Wish me luck. I wish you love and light.