Being in transition is irritating. Mostly because it feels like there’s no guarantee of stability. And contrary to my recklessly impulsive, leap and the net shall appear style, stability is crucial for me. Lack of stability makes it hard to plan for the future, which makes me unable to enjoy the now. I mean, I have a hard enough time enjoying the present because I’m usually re-hashing the past or making unattainable goals for the future, so the lack of stability or predictability makes me worry even more.
The stability I’m talking about here is financial stability – and my irritatingly persistent need for it.
At this point last year I was on the job hunt, and so I was at this time the year before that. Looking for a new job, and the first 3-6 months of working a new job can be shitty and stressful, not to mention what happens when you spend months looking for a job and ducking work so you can go on interviews and then you score a new gig and then you start and it’s really promising and after a few months you realise it’s not the right fit for you but you don’t want to give up and you really don’t want to start job hunting again so you deny that you need to find a new one until you almost have a nervous breakdown and you finally admit you need a new job. So there’s that.
Two years to settle might be a normal time frame for someone moving to a new country. But being someone who is not only recklessly impulsive but who also plans to run marathons when I should be crawling, I’m really disappointed in myself that it’s taken so long. I’m disappointed because, even though finding a stable job is really important for things like rent, student loans (thanks, mom and dad!), bills, and groceries, my reasons for not settling down and creating a full life here all feel like excuses. I just kept thinking “as soon as I find the right job, I won’t have to worry about money anymore. Everything will fall into place. I’ll start writing more, I’ll feel better, and I’ll start doing more.” And really, all that thinking did was keep me in an obsessive little bubble. I feel like I’ve been so consumed by the worry of instability that I’ve robbed myself of time. I’ve robbed two years from myself. Two years of living in a new, exciting country, two years where I could have been doing more. Could have been living more.
Basically, I’m getting a bit sick of my own shit. I know depression is difficult to fight, and it manifests in so many different ways that you feel like you’re fighting a 60-front war, but I’m so tired of it. I’m tired of not being in control. I want more. I need more.
And that’s it. I’m sick of it. I want things to be better. I may wake up tomorrow morning hating myself again, and I don’t want to jinx it, but I’ve been taking more and more baby steps to getting my shit back together, and I feel good. Empowered, if I want to use my therapist’s language. It means working hard. And working hard when all I want to do is NOT work hard. Which admittedly, will be the hardest part.
I want to thrive again. I want to make up for lost time and make the rest of this year count.
Happy October, everyone!