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...and life continues
Reverse culture shock’s going to be a major bitch, yo.
My flight got into JFK airport two weeks ago, and I’ve spent a lot of time since then holed up in my childhood bedroom doing two things: vainly battling a fourteen hour time difference and jet lag, and thinking. I found the letter I wrote myself before I left, and it’s made me think about a lot of things.
I’m not sure enough time has passed for me to comment about my experiences in Australia yet. Right now, when people—family, neighbors, acquaintances—ask me about it, they get a glib, reflexive response. It’s not an untruthful one in any way, but the practiced words hardly describe my time away with any sort of authenticity. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before that changes.
But, if I’m not yet ready to re-evaluate where I’ve been, there are plenty of other questions that have caught my attention in the meantime. I’ve spent many wee hours of recent East Coast mornings making faces at the clock by my bed and considering where I am, where I intend to go, and how I intend to get there.
Probably the most reassuring realization is that for the most part, I’m happy with where I am. Or, perhaps more accurately, not where I am—living with my parents in New York again is less than pleasant, but that deserves an entry on its own, and I won’t get into it now—but what I am. I still like my major and my field, the school I go to, and I don’t feel like my life is on the wrong track. So, that’s good.
But if there were reassuring realizations, there were surprising ones, too. One big one that hit me the other day is that I don’t want a PhD anymore. Or at least I’m not sure that I want one anymore, and considering I’ve always found academia and research appealing (and, in fact, still do), that was somewhat unexpected. But right now, I think I’d be perfectly happy with a Master’s degree a few years down the line. Why I’ve come to this decision right now, I’m not so sure, but it feels honest and I’m willing to trust it.
Other thoughts? Despite the many frustrations related to living with parents for practically any length of time, my sucky health back in May and June scared me. I’m thinking of taking next (academic) year off, and using that time to just recuperate physically; the thought of dealing with that shit again leaves me very, very cold. I came to understand the proverb sin salud, no hay nada with a hateful clarity, and that’s not something I’m going to forget any time soon.
(I’ll admit, there is a part of me that can’t help looking at that idea as a kind of defeat—as letting my bad health rule my life and stop me from living my life. Intellectually, I know that’s bullshit, and that it’s not a tragedy to graduate ”on time” next year with many of my college buddies. But, what can I say? I’m human; I have issues.)
Either way, life goes on. It always does.
It always does.