It would be my nature to runaway.
When things don’t automatically fall into place, I look for the door, another route. I want immediate satisfaction, immediate happiness.
Idaho wasn’t what I expected, so I fled. The Post didn’t come nearly close to my expectations, so I abandoned it.
Someone very close to me, someone I trust with me emotions, told me that I wouldn’t forgive myself if I failed at this, as if there was the expectation that I would. Some probably do.
It’s not that I dislike Lesotho that this cloud hangs over me. It’s not that I want to leave, that this isn’t what I thought I be. It’s that coming here is not the fix all that I foolishly hoped it would be. It’s that I still haven’t learned how to make myself happy.
I’ve expected that I would come out of these two years as a freshly pressed better version of myself, all problems fixed. Maybe, even perfect. Even under my maturity and wisdom, I still haven’t learned that isn’t possible.
But the growth that I can latch on to and occasionally flaunt is that I am not going to leave this time. This time I am going to hold on because I know that it is not my surrounding, it is me. I need to work through these emotions and finally pull the roots out and plant something worth watering.
This is not Lesotho’s problem. It’s me, in any location, and there is no escape for these feelings. They’ve always been with me and now I finally understand it’s time to fix them.
It’s time to delete the clutter and unnecessary and fix up or accept the blunders that are just part of me. I can’t be perfect but I can hope to be me. If I can do that much, well then I don’t think happy is too far off.