This was written about 6 years ago. I’ve been in Germany for 4.5 years. What have I learned? Locations change, cobblestones for concrete, tall trees for tall buildings. I still don’t sleep. Anxiety still shadows my every move. People talk and still don’t listen. And I still want those fish tacos.
I now have more weapons at my disposal. I’m more knowledgeable and secure in that knowledge. I have more confidence. I have an inner strength whose source is unknown, but reliable. And fierce determination. I can still walk after the blast.
I’m feeling older and older as the days continue. I’m truly just about at the end of my rope with a lot of things. I feel a meltdown coming soon. I tend to have two moods. Anxious and very anxious.
I never used to be wound so tightly. At least I didn’t think so. I’m so worried about being good, successful, competent and smart I think I’ve lost something. I suppose that might be the price that one pays. I just find myself running hard and fast with an idea of the destination, but without a real concept of who I’ll be when I get there. I can’t do anything else right now. Too much too soon or I just wasn’t prepared. I’m feeling cornered by the great unknown.
I’m feeling like I need to run away and sell tacos on the beach of Cabo San Lucas, date one of the guys that sprays on suntan lotion and wear tank tops and handmade thongs. Worry about whether to sell fish or pork tacos or if the clouds will burn off before I take off in the catamaran to snorkel. I want to worry about the kind of beer I want — corona or pacifico, and did I want a lime with that? I want the scent of the ocean, briny and fresh.
I want to feel the warm sun on my skin as I nap and the light kisses of a breeze keeping the heat bearable. I want to swim in warm moonlight without a thought of the next moment. I want to look at the girl anxiously taking on more and more projects in an attempt to shine her gold star from a distance. I want to see her in my mind and not in the mirror. I don’t want to go to meetings where everyone talks and no one listens and nothing gets accomplished. I don’t want to walk the halls of a building smiling and looking alert. I don’t want to answer the phone with a chipper voice and polite small talk. I want the lazy hooded look of a girl well contented. I want the crass manners of a girl with no need to impress. I want to be drunk off the sensuality of living rather than sober in the realities of urban responsibilities. I want handwritten love notes and steamy whispers against my neck rather than an e-mail and cell phone innuendo. I want to stop by rather than plan as we speed across the freeways and flight plans trying to coordinate busy schedules. I want understanding to be free rather than forced. I want the lethargic movement of thick, tanned legs walking on sand rather pasty white legs stuffed into tights jaywalking on asphalt.