My sister gets married this weekend. As festivities ramp up, I’m coming to terms with how much EXPLAINING I have to do about my situation. I keep seeing people I haven’t seen in ages, and they want to know things like how my life is, why I’m a nomad, and what I plan to do next.

If I were being honest, I’d answer:

  • My life is—NOT GREAT. I’m filled with regret over leaving a stable environment and fear that I’ll walk backward into a version of myself I worked so hard to leave behind. Most of the time, I’m thinking about money. Obsessing. Terrified. I miss privacy and being in control of my environment. I still have nightmares in which all of my car windows get smashed in. I miss everyone I left behind. I miss mountains. I miss serenity.
  • I’m a nomad because—I’m an UNSATISFIABLE MONSTER. I had a perfect life in San Diego—perfect—and I was still unhappy. If I understood why, I probably wouldn’t have thrown away every good thing I had just to see what would happen if I did. BUT I DID OKAY.
  • Next I plan to—Is “lie in the fetal position and cry” an option? Because that’s all I want to do, pretty much all the time.

While I know this period of turmoil is part of an adjustment process and things will get better in time, I’m still very much in it right now. This makes small talk deeply uncomfortable. When I hint at the truth of my situation, people are quick to look for the silver lining. “But doesn’t it feel liberating?” If you mean I’m liberated from HALF MY WARDROBE and my SENSE OF WELLBEING, then yes. Very liberating indeed.

When I try to play up the good parts of my life, I can hear the effort and how unconvincing it is. I utter bullshit phrases like, “It’s been really fun and interesting,” while my head screams OH GOD I SPENT ALL MY MONEY and, “Life’s too short not to try it, right?” to the tune of IT BETTER BE BECAUSE I’M ABOUT TO TAP THOSE RETIREMENT SAVINGS.

Surely, they can see the farce. No one believes the plastered-on smiles, the attempts to paint pretty pictures over the crumpled canvases of our lives. It’s like your recently divorced friend telling you about their newfound freedom and purpose when you know underneath their words is I stalk his new girlfriend on Instagram every night while binge-eating Cheetos—DON’T JUDGE ME. (Lord knows I’ve been that friend.)

Going through chaos is embarrassing enough without feeling like everyone can see right through you, without having to dance to some optimistic melody to make your conversational partner feel better despite your both knowing it’s a big stinking charade. Sometimes the only thing you want is to say, “I’m not okay right now. I hope someday I will be, but I’m not yet,” and then not immediately walk it back, not toss glitter on it, not pretend you were JUST KIDDING LOLOLOOOOOOOOL.

I do believe I’ll be okay—at least, I hope I will—but I have no idea whether it will be on this path or not. It’s too soon to tell.

My fantasy for this wedding is that when people ask about my life, I meet inquiries with, “It’s too soon to tell,” thus completely satisfying my conversational partners’ curiosity and causing them immediately to switch to more interesting matters like how great the cake is (it’s vegan-friendly FANTASY CAKE) or which White House staffers got a rose this week and will be advancing to the next round.

Of course, I’ll play my part. I’ll answer questions and accept silver linings and smile through it all like the super-amazing, reliable older sister I am, but deep down, I’ll be pining for a more honest exchange.

“I don’t know right now,” I could say.

And they could tell me, “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

Wouldn’t that be nice?

 

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