Journal of Becoming: Entry #4—Un-becoming

Dreams unrealized and identities lost

My vision of the future has become increasingly myopic. I was once able to see my life in perfect detail five, ten years ahead.

Whatever I wanted, I made it happen.

Every time.

Now everything is blurry. I’m at a crossroads in my life. I’m becoming someone I don’t recognize and that’s unsettling. Is my wanderlust waning or am I just weary?

Oh crap

Lying awake in bed at night, the idea of going off grid and spiriting myself away to an ashram in India starts making its rounds through my mind. What if I never get this chance again? It’s something I’ve always dreamt of doing. But then I think about having to share a room with a stranger, the discomfort of simple living conditions with only a rickety old fan that provides no relief against the sweltering heat, eating the same rice and daal day in and day out, getting up at the butt crack of dawn to meditate, no coffee.

No. Coffee.

And then my mind goes to all the dream homes I scroll through on Zillow, and I imagine sitting in the breakfast nook of a remodeled 1920s craftsman in the PNW—no earlier than 10 am—with a paperback and coffee.

Coffee.

And it’s the second daydream that wins out. Hands down.

Every time.

And I wonder: who the hell am I?! Have I lost my sense of adventure in favor of creature comforts? I always wanted to travel as much as possible while I was young because I feared this exact thing happening—that I would no longer enjoy roughing it, that the novelty of backpacking and communal living would wear off. And it appears my fears have come true because now, I choose comfort. I choose AC and coffee and a wide circumference of personal space.

I wonder if I will ever go back to the way I was or if this is it. Will some of my dreams just have to remain forever unrealized? Is this what getting older looks like?

Certainly not.

I’ve met plenty of people much older than me who make Robinson Crusoe look like a newly initiated Boy Scout. So, it must just be a me thing. And it’s damn scary because I don’t recognize this new me. This new me who just wants a home with a backyard, and a dog, and a Christmas tree, and a spare room where friends can stay over after a dinner and games night. Maybe because in the last ten years of living abroad I’ve been so transient. Maybe because in the ten years prior to this—even when I lived in the same city in the US—I still changed apartments, moved to a new neighborhood every year.

I’ve experienced a lot of instability in my life and maybe I just want some stability, security. That sounds a lot less scary to me than the other ‘s’ word I’ve always feared: settling. I’ve always hated the idea of settling down because to me that meant being stuck. Well, if I am redefining who I am as an entire person, perhaps I should also redefine my beliefs around settling down, get clear about what is actually so scary about it.

In last week’s newsletter, I featured a quote by Janet Fitch, which is fitting for all I have been reflecting on lately:

“You've got to let go of who you were, to become who you will be.”

Can I have it all? Coffee AND lentils. Christmas trees AND harem pants.

Do I want to have it all?

Is it even possible to have it all?

From my current shortsighted view, I can see only two options:

a) Stay put in one place long enough to focus on building a new career

or

b) Get odd jobs to save up so I can get back out on the road.

Ideally, I would get an online job that would allow me to have a home base while giving me the freedom to work from anywhere in the world, and would be both fabulously lucrative AND fulfilling.

But I’m a realist, not an idealist.

So, do I need to let go of the globetrotter I have been to become whoever the hell this woman is who dreams of a breakfast nook?

And would that really be so bad?

If I choose to look at settling down as an opportunity for a new kind of adventure, if I recognize that not all dreams were meant to be realized but to simply give us direction and propel us forward, if I use this un-becoming to discover a new version of myself then no, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

There’s a quote from one of my favorite books, The Alchemist:

“It’s the thought of Mecca that keeps me alive. That’s what helps me face these days that are all the same…I’m afraid that if my dream is realized, I’ll have no reason to go on living.”

I think part of maturing is realizing the difference between a dream and a delusion. But in relinquishing this dream, I’m also letting go of a big part of what defines me.

I had to leave America to realize just how American I am. After living abroad for so long and occasionally visiting America, I’ve discovered how un-American I’ve become. Repatriating may reveal an entirely new identity.

I look forward to meeting her.

Hello, lover