I’m going. There is a small, remote, radioactive island called The Future, and my boat is approaching ever faster. It’s a black hole; no information escapes, all is unknown. Time will stretch as I get closer to its epicenter. All the while my Geiger counter is giving off increasingly alarming signals that resonate in my gut. News flash – I have decent abs because I have anxiety problems.
My voyage is going to happen. It’s real. I’m moving. Part of my brain is repeating that people have been moving to other countries since we became bipedal, and in incredible numbers since colonial times – millions of other people have done it without complete disaster, and I can probably do the same. On the other hand…YOU’RE MOVING TO ANOTHER COUNTRY – IT’S A BIG DEAL, YOU CAN’T GET MUCH BIGGER IN TERMS OF CHANGE.
There is this nasty limbo in the air that I was dreading. It is too early to pack, but I have finished my responsibilities for my previous degree. There is nothing that can occupy my mind, and my unoccupied mind is incredibly proficient at finding mischievous activities. For the first time in months, I looked at scissors with desire. I was just trying to do my darning! I followed skills, I distracted. Is the next month going to be a dogged fight uphill the in the rain against my mind? What kind of state will I be in when I finally reach the summit (Heathrow airport) and attempt to plant a flag (find an apartment)? Limbo period indeed. Limboing and dodging my way through the battle.
I figured out another reason why, ‘Are you excited yet?’ bugs me. The reason I am not excited is because excited is dangerous. I’m the kind of borderline that suppresses all emotion in an attempt at control. Excitement entails anticipation, which is next door neighbours with anxiety. Anxiety is a serious busy body, always bringing over cake while trying to catch excitement doing something naughty. In fact every time someone kindly asks me about the Upcoming Unknown, they’re triggering me to break out or shut down. The more I think about the move, the more I worry about it. Avoiding the issue feels like my only refuge. Apathy has become my shield.
The problem with responding to these questions is that I have begun to sound like a cocky fifteen-year-old boy. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” “No, I don’t have an apartment yet.” “No, there’s not much I can do.” “We’ll see. What will be will be.” “I don’t really know what I’m doing.” “I have no idea what my program will be like. Or about.” That or an enlightened guru, but the apathetic resignation and cheery fatality in my voice likely snuffs out the latter. I feel as if I’m failing to live up to their vicarious curiosity, by committing gross negligence and Failure to Imagine the Future: If I’m not excited, why am I going?
I just want to sit down and cry, to give my helplessness free reign of my emotions. I don’t want to talk about The Future – I want to ignore it until it comes, so please distract me by letting me enjoy being here with you, in the now.