Sometimes I feel like I'm actually two different people trapped in one body. My desires and needs are so often at war with one another, it's as though my metaphorical angel and devil are permanently stationed on each shoulder - and both with a seemingly legitimate point of view.
The problem is that those two points of view are generally mutually exclusive.
Something I've been very proud of recently has been settling down and getting my life in order, and somewhat stabilized. For age 22, I think I'm doing pretty well. I have a 9 to 5 job like I wanted, a fairly stable relationship, and for all intents and purposes, a quiet, normal, and stable life. I still live in New York City, so I only ever get so quiet and normal, but still, great strides have been made. And part of me is so pleased, proud, and content.
Then there's the other part of me, who is stricken with insatiable wanderlust, and is damn near crawling out of her skin. That part of me dreams of just packing the car, driving across the country, settling in a random town and just taking it from there. But that's not stable or responsible. Would it be exciting? Sure. Could I really walk away from my life here? Not so sure.
I've come close a few times. Almost two years ago, I lost the job that I loved and the man I thought I loved all in the same month. I was broken, and for the first time in years, I felt completely free. I ran away to London for a few weeks, which had less than the desired effect. As Sheryl Crow said, "They say you gotta get away to wanna go back home again." With the exception of my time in Oxford, I spent most of my time overseas wanting to leave. Still, to this day, every time I close a show, or get dumped I am hit hard with an urge to run somewhere - anywhere.
Last week, I was offered a job on Norwegian Cruiselines. I had applied for the job months ago, shortly after being brutally dumped by the douchebag formerly known as Prince Charming, and finding out that yet another show was closing and leaving me jobless. At the time, I wanted to run and where better than a cruiseship? But now? I'm too comfortable in my job and relationship to jeopardize my stability by uprooting my life now. So I won't go.
And there we see the problem - I get too comfortable, too attached to things. The part of me that loves safety, and stability, and normalcy always wins out in the long term, despite occasional flights of fancy. But I still yearn for excitement, and a certain degree of freedom that stability does not afford me. And so I wall myself in, with jobs and men, and all the messy emotions that accompany those things, and I can;t bring myself to abandon ship until all of that comes tumbling down.
And it will, someday. And when it goes, I'll cry and I'll ache, and I'll shake an angry fist at the sky, begging the stars for answers to the age old "Why me?"
But somewhere beneath all that, there will be a packed suitcase, a tank of gas, and a little voice that says "I've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon."