After an adventure is never an easy place to be.
I’ve been home now for just over a week and the air is crisp and clean in my lungs. I’ve washed off Dhaka’s dust, shaken off the persistent pollution-cough, and wriggled back into jeans and jackets. I’ve found my way into the stride of the hills, taking long fast walks to shake off the sense I might get stuck standing still.
The house is warm, the bed is soft, the food is good. I should be feeling pretty comfortable.
I have about another week of work left to do from here and then I will be once again entirely untied, lose and a little at a loss. It is exciting and frightening in one quick breath and I’m not sure whether I should be finding something to hold on to or enjoying floating free.
There are different paths forking out ahead and I am pausing, puzzled.
I know my organisation will offer me more work somewhere at some point in the not too distant future. I could sit and wait to see what they’ll throw me. It would be an unknown country but a known dream – exciting, challenging and ever addictive. I know who I am when this is what I do.
And yet that rolling life leaves me little space to feel secure, to grow love, to feed friendships. It leaves me living hand to mouth, a stand-by cipher for something elusive, but always more crucial than my own happiness.
I am not one of the operational priorities. They will never leave me no room to become.
The popular plan for my family is that I stay in the UK, apply for sensible office jobs here and settle for building something standard and solid. Can you feel my enthusiasm?
The theory follows that in time I will meet someone I’ll like enough to keep me rooted in a life that right now feels more alien to me than anything elsewhere could offer. I imagine myself growing in resentment rather than love, feeling caught by every caress, and finally bludgeoning the poor man with a frying pan…
I am trying to sit and really think about how I want my future to be with my unconscious thoughts and fears unknotted. I’m trying to summon another kind of me. Safety and security have a certain appeal but nothing in that picture lights me up.
I would be glad to find a home but I’m just not sure that future is where my heart wants home to be.
I’m baffled by the idea I’m most likely to meet someone to spend my life with by doing what I want to do least. It feels a lot like settling good enough, rather than going for great, and lately words from thousands of miles away have got me thinking about just how good great could be…
So here’s the crazy ridiculous B plan that I’m batting around in my thoughts. A few thousand pounds, a few months, a flight in the direction of Central or South America…
I have half baked plans and a stack of books that have probably never before been checked out of this sleepy little town’s library – Belize, Costa Rica, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru… now this is finally firing my enthusiasm. I can feel my feet tapping, my heart skipping.
If I follow my passion will I pass up my chance at a happily ever after? Can I afford to make the quieter life wait?