New Directions

No, I'm not talking about the latest episode of Glee.  Although, I must say, Sue the Grinch pretty much changed my life.

I'm writing because I am staring out at a maze of paths and directions -- some totally impractically fabulous, and some, of course, woefully predictable and safe.  I am sitting down in front of them, playing in the dirt, hoping that my doodles in the sand will help me decide which one to take.  Meanwhile, despite my confusion and hesitation, time is very rudely marching forward, ignoring all of my attempts to make it just stay still until I figure things out.   And so, here we are, in the year when I will turn 25.

2011.  It looks strange even to write it.

I remember on the first day of second grade when my teacher, Ms. Henderson, gave each of us little notepads that said "Class of 2005" at the top.  I ran my chubby little fingers over the writing and read it again and again, in disbelief.  2005.  It seemed like eons away.  It was further away than I was old, after all.  What will the world be like in 2005?, I remember wondering.  What will I be like?

2005 is already a distant memory now, of course.  Cemented in my childhood past just as much as my second-grade memories.  Now, half a decade past 2005 and just a year away from what some claim will be the end of the world, who am I?  What am I like?

Less than six months ago, I proclaimed myself to be an 8th grade English teacher.  For those of you who do not know, that is no longer the case. Before the 2011 is over, I will no longer be able to say that I'm in my early twenties.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if 2007-2009 had gone differently, if I hadn't, each of those years, lost someone so dear to me. Would I still have moved out to California?  Would I have wanted to be a teacher at all?  Was I just desperately trying to carry on my mother's legacy? Would I be settled in a career by now?  At graduate school?  Traveling the world? Or exactly where I am, sitting in an apartment in San Francisco, talking to my blog as if it were my therapist?

What matters, I suppose, is that I am here, in this moment right now, in the one of the most beautiful cities in the world.  And, in the end, life is made up of moments just like this one, and what I choose to do with this moment, and the next, and the next will become what I choose to do with my life.  

So do I choose to dive into the job search here, in this beautiful city, surrounded by ocean and hills, where I can walk to a dozen different cafes and coffee shops, and where nearly everyone is just like me... claiming to be seeking adventure and living "the dream," but really just trying to run away from a painful past? 

Or, do I choose to return to the town that is so full of pain and memories and scars on one hand, but, on the other, of community, fellowship, support, and love?

I don't know.  All I can offer is two quotations, which I will paraphrase and probably butcher, that found me yesterday.  The first one my father offered yesterday afternoon while urging me to play in a San Francisco open mic this week.  The second one dug into me last night while I was watching Into the Wild with my roommates.

"The things that are the hardest to do are usually the best."

"Happiness is only real when shared."