Stateside

It’s been a little over a month since I have been back stateside, and it has been one of the hardest things I’ve done yet. The culture shock of coming “home”, is much more than when I left. I don’t really know where to start…

I am very fortunate in the world of work, and I realize it. I’m fortunate to have a good education, I’m happy that I focused my time in college on internships that mattered, I had a great career at West Monroe and worked hard to build the relationships and friendships that got me to where I am, and I am lucky to be able to learn from the clients that I did.

I am back stateside to work on a short-term project at WMP, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. After more than 6 months of backpacking through Asia and Europe, things were wearing on me. I often joked that I was due for a “vacation from my vacation.” I was tiring of being backpack-bound; I craved a shelf to put my clothes on. My absolute favorite part of traveling was meeting people and building friendships, but after so many amazing friendships and so many insanely painful goodbyes, I stopped putting myself out there. I stopped trying to make friends, because it’s too hard to say goodbye…every. single. day. I started looking for an outlet for my talent/brain/intelligence/etc. - I would play logic puzzles, learned how to solve a Rubik’s cube, was reading 1,000+ pages a week, educated myself on multiple world events, became a die hard news reader, and overall craved a way to use my brain. I tired of partying. I have always been an ebb and flow kind of partier - a few months on, a few months off. After about 4 months of some pretty epic drinking, I started tuning out, and on the backpacking circuit drinking is a very big piece of the culture. I became an outsider because I craved staying in and reading about the Vietnam War more than slamming 10 Changs, dancing on the beach, and watching the sun rise. I looked for a place to settle and slow down. Before this WMP offer came up, I had decided that I was going to move to the islands, pursue my divemaster, and relax for 3-6 months. 

A late night email chain with an old colleague, and I was back on a plane headed to Chicago less than 24 hours after the ticket was booked. I didn’t get a chance to process the decision to come home. I didn’t get a chance to have the “holy shit you’re headed home tomorrow? fuck! 6 months?? that’s crazy…good luck” conversation with fellow backpackers. I didn’t get a chance to eat all of my favorite foods one last time. I didn’t get a chance to cry about a phase of my life being over. I didn’t get a chance to reflect on everything.

I left my remaining belongings scattered across the country, and since I hadn’t planned on coming home in the winter, my winter gear is in storage at my mom’s and my summer gear is in Colorado. I sold my skis. I have to ship things all over the place. I don’t know where my shoes are. I forget which clothes I threw out and which I have in a box. I don’t have a home.  I’m in disarray, and that’s not something that sits well with me. 

At the end of my trip I craved settling somewhere for a while and just breathing, and I have (of course) managed to set myself up for the complete opposite. I don’t have an apartment. I have no permanent plans to stay in the states. I’m not in the same city for more than 4 days. I do laundry at the laundromat.  I live out of a backpack. 

I’m really enjoying being back at work - it gives me purpose, structure, and is currently extremely intellectually challenging. Work gives me an outlet to dedicate my time to, which is what I’ve been craving for so many months. It gives me time to fill up my bank account, my SPG account, and my United account. It gives me the opportunity to be able to support myself in whatever I chose to do next. It gives me time to reconnect with my mentors, my friends, and a lot of the people who have shaped my life thus far. It gives me an opportunity to make an impact.

I know that I won’t stay here for long and will probably be gone by the spring, but I’m torn on what to do next. The two possibilities literally couldn’t be different.

Option 1.
I could move to Berlin. I could rent a “flat”. I could enroll in German classes. I could build a life with someone. I could drink hefe on the streets. I could read a good book in the tiergarten. I could become European. I could learn how to dry my clothes on a clothesline. I could become a Berlin hipster. I could pick up a new accent. I could go to European festivals. I could become a WWII buff. I could pursue a relationship with someone I care about. 

Option 2.
I could move to southeast Asia. I could become a divemaster. I could live in a beach hut. I could build a new career. I could drink Singha after work. I could become tan. I could work in a job that uses my brain and body and is outdoors. I could become a version of a person I’ve been envisioning for a while. I could live in shorts and a tank. I could read in my hammock.

I flip flop between options on a daily basis. One day my mind is made up, the next day it can’t believe that I ever thought that was a good idea. I’m choosing between a person that I care deeply about and a place that I can’t stop thinking about.

People ask me what my favorite part of my trip is - and my answer is many things. The time with myself to really get to know who I am, what makes me happy, what matters to me, and how to take care of myself. The people that I met who inspired me - mostly those who didn’t fit in with their prescribed life at home and made a conscious effort to change. The priorities that the rest of the world places on things: family, friends, time with others, taking care of their communities, feeding their body.

I’m happy that I am finally at a place in my life where instead of being unable to see a positive future in my life, I am tasked with choosing between two ways of life that both excite me so much.