Three years ago, I moved home to straighten myself out, to recover from eight months of “finding myself” in grad school in Boston and Los Angeles, to pay back an inordinate amount of student loans and to remind myself why it’s best to not shoot for the moon or the stars. Three years is a long time, though, and I think I’m sufficiently healed and should move on to something new. I thought I could stick it out when I met the man I thought was the one I’d been dreaming about all my life. After three weeks of him not calling and me somehow still convincing him to ask me out until he finally just stopped responding to e-mail, I realized that the real man of my dreams won’t need convincing in order to spend time with me. But his appearance in my life at a particularly crucial time led me to the belief that I could stay here and be happy. His departure has spurred me into another one of my “itching to leave” phases, but this time, I’m not sure how to handle it.
I’ve already finished grad school.
I’ve already fled to Boston and returned merely with a newfound ability to say, “I lived in Boston.”
I could flee to New York, but I think that might actually kill my mother, and when I returned from Boston, I vowed never to never again try to kill her with my leaving.
So, do I wait this one out? Do I hope that the people who keep insisting that they’ll hire me will actually hire me? Do I forget my newly minted degree and try for a new career and move to the city that’s an hour away from home but light years away from living at home?
Neither the drive home nor my walk up the driveway provides enough time to properly answer these questions.
But I’m 25. My back hurts. My shoulders are tense. I have a headache, and I think I’m getting way too stressed out about making these kinds of life decisions. Why can’t someone else make them for me? I haven’t done such a hot job so far, so why must I continue to be the person who screws it all up?