Today is hard. Unexpectedly so. My "avoid and keep busy" coping mechanism failed me. Merely 22 days in but I feel I'm running out of techniques to overlook the things I miss & focus on the the things I like here. It isn't that there aren't things to like. Of course there are. It's less what is out there & more what is in here (points to self).
But I wouldn't have escaped her in the U.S, either. Maybe I should have left myself at home when I packed.
Over a year ago there was a dinner discussion one night on the topic of traveling & living amongst a new culture. I wanted this. I had an insatiable itch to move around & explore new places while meeting new people all at the same time. I feared without such opportunities the itch would never be scratched. I also feared the itch would be reoccurring - maybe on a yearly basis. But being young, it didn't hurt to find out... this was the life I saw for myself. A sort of vagabond, leave it all behind bohemian lifestyle that resurrected itself after a year or two of settling down somewhere, organizing & stabilizing. Two opposing ends of the spectrum forced to coalesce in one tiny 5 foot 3 girl.
But what can truly coalesce when forced? Nothing. It's like putting a size 8 girl in size 3 pants: you aren't hiding anything.
Ready to admit I feel bipolar & equally ready to admit I've followed the path that brought me half-way around the world whilst listening to my starry-eyed subconscious, I now have to admit: I can't find my size.
Not my clothing size. I found that here just fine... one dress, a pair of jeans and a new shirt later.
I meant my size in happiness. Because in this post we're attributing human dress sizes to happiness. Keep up, really.
I've been shopping for it. Looking all over the city each day. No luck. Maybe it is the labeling - with my limited Turkish vocabulary, maybe I can't read the packaging properly. They must sell happiness, right? Clearly I'm either a day late to the store, unable to see above the 3rd shelf or impaired by the all Türkçe. Wouldn't I recognize the packaging if I saw it? Maybe I've just got it all wrong.
I miss the happiness that was there for me each morning I woke up next to my boyfriend. The same happiness that was in a nice, pre-bottled container I could open then shower myself with as necessary. The grab-and-go happiness I found all over The City even immediately following Mr Subway Jerk or Taxi Driver from Hell. Happiness in so many forms I couldn't figure out which one to choose sometimes. I don't remember it being so difficult. Not to say I remember it being easy; but I certainly don't remember having to fight & work so hard for it.
Ah. I see now.
The cultivation of happiness from unhappiness.
Before now, I would have sworn mastery level at this. Unpleasant experiences thrown your way, trudging through the thick of it just to come out the other side mildly scathed yet the better for it. I've been here many, many times. I have! I know it. I remember. Patience was key - waiting it out, being strong enough to find something small each day that made you smile or laugh. Not looking back until enough time had gone by you were sure to see road behind you. Trying not to judge yourself harshly for the meltdowns. Yes, yes, yes. This is all checked off my To-Do list. So what is the problem here? Why am I finding this so difficult?
If you expected me to answer that, I'm sorry. I don't know yet. I have only guesses. Possibly the self-discovery process I've been catapulted into & all the long-hours awake this equates to. Staring at yourself in a mirror while wearing ill-fitting clothing isn't enjoyable.
Anyways, where I go from here is unclear but I do believe it will bring clarity in a way I hadn't bargained for. I look forward to the challenge the same way a girl shopping the day after Thanksgiving looks forward to a dressing room finally making itself available. You know it will happen... if you're patient. But how patient can you be? And how many times can you check your phone, hum along to the store's pre-holiday soundtrack or thumb through the closest rack, potentially adding another item to your pile? Yeah. You see my point. We've all seen the women in front of us abandon piles of clothes silently saying "I'll come back later" or "I didn't really want any of these anyways."
I won't do it. I'm waiting for the damn dressing room. Even if it takes all day. Let's just hope some of these clothes fit...
No comments:
Post a Comment