I’m a (wannabe) writer, and one thing that I’ve learned from being around other writers is that we’re a bunch of introverted nuts. I mean, my passion in life is to gossip about imaginary people, and, let’s face it, you have to be just a little bit crazy to find that pastime enjoyable.
But I digress. I’m a horrendous introvert, and I just moved cities. What prompted the move was a work situation that was leaky fishtank bad, a social situation that was closer to a lesson on flying solo, and a general feeling of learned helplessness from being in a place where it was difficult to get anywhere.
Of all of these, the most dangerous was the learned helplessness. With some work I could have found a new job, and with a bit of strategy I could have changed the friend situation; however, being in a situation that encouraged me over time that nothing can be done to improve my outlook … well, that’s not the point of the blog post, but it is the meat behind the move.
So I’m sitting in my new room for the first time completely surrounded by boxes, and my cat is wandering around checking out all potential nap spots and debating whether or not she’s forgiven me enough to cuddle yet. I’m listening to the air conditioner blast on full, and all I can think is…
What the fuck am I doing here???!!!
I feel this way after every big move, so the stomach churning of having made a terrible mistake and the overwhelming voice that said I should have stayed at home, hid under the covers, and talked with internet friends for the rest of my life hasn’t revealed itself to be wrong yet. Then the voice says that maybe it’s a dream and I’ll wake up with my cat on my chest and this boxing and driving was some kind of fever dream. Or that I should have stayed at the old job. I mean, I was miserable, sure. I had no meaningful work left, yes. It had driven me to getting therapy, absolutely, but it was stable and secure and my unhappiness was at least comfortable.
My unhappiness was comfortable.
What kind of life is that supposed to make?
Once that thought crossed my mind I got up and fished in my backpack for a pocket-sized book my best friend gave me after we created a business model for my author platform. The cover of the book reads, “And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was greater than the risk it took to bloom.” ~ Anaiss Nim
In my moment of anxiety I clung tight to this quote. I made this move to get more time to write. I made this move to be with an old friend so we could meet people together. To figure out how to find new friends after college, and hopefully get past both of our hang ups about relationships. It seems less daunting to try when you know you have a friend to go get ice cream with after a bad/awkward/strange/questionable date. As an introvert, finding a way to make my excursions in getting to know others easier makes all the difference in the world.
And, I stress again, more time for writing. I want to make my living writing novels, so I better, you know, write freaking novels!
My anxiety tells me I’m on the cusp of a massive change. All I can hope now is that the change is for the better. If it isn’t, then I call this move a…
…. PLOT TWIST!