Something’s off. I can feel it when I begin my day and possibility isn’t as enticing as the solace my blankets promise to provide. I try to fight it throughout the day but, like a fresh heartbreak, it speaks the strongest in the day’s silence.
I am not sure where to go. I am not sure what to do. I want the universe to put forth a large exit sign but I am not even sure what mile marker it is. I can’t figure out who I am, and that’s the scariest part of all.
These feelings are normal to RPCVs or anyone who has gone through a life transition and can only see a blur of snow and fog ahead. Yet, they feel so specific to me and to work out of them would require all the effort I can muster, and it just seems like too much.
My life is not as desolate as my emotions carve it out to be as I have a warm place to sleep and a good foundation to spring from, but I can’t help but feeling that I am lost. I’ve applied for a few good jobs, only to find out that I made some major errors that will likely immediately put me out of the running. Normally, I would beat myself up for days, but now, after five minutes, I can move on (growth, I know( and wonder if those mistakes were indication to me that I need to slow down, ease back into this life.
A fellow Lesotho RPCV told me this in an email recently: “My advice is that the old Heather Mangan didn’t return; a new one did, and you have a get to know her. We keep trying to fit ourselves as square pegs into familiar round holes, or some such.”
I always told myself that I would not rush the readjustment process and here I am trying to force things. Maybe I need to take time to get to know the new me and spend some time with myself like I do my friends and family. Cook myself a delicious meal. Sip coffee with a journal in hand. Run through the forest without any pressure of time or calories burned. Take myself on a trip. I need to figure out what it is that I truly want before I go after it.
I don’t need to give up my search for what’s next but I can walk instead of run.