I’m always amazed at where I am able to find people to connect with. Today, it was with the 50+ year old obituary writer from work. It all started with the question, “So, where did you learn to speak Spanish and why did you start?” The back story on this is that I happened to be upstairs making copies when I started working at the funeral home when I turned around to find out who the Mexican accented Spanish was coming from, only to see this gray-haired gringa from Kansas talking on the phone. Yeah, my mouth was open.
In the course of telling her story, she told me the story of an old Native American man who came up to her at a pow wow she went to when she was 17. He told her mom (who is ½ Native American) that her daughter had the” spirit of the butterfly and wouldn’t stay put for long … she will never be satisfied just staying where she is because something tells her there’s more to life.”
For the last two days I’ve dreamt of Africa. I don’t think it’s necessarily that I miss the continent, but I’m so ready to move on to the next thing. It’s not only the financial struggle I find myself in the middle of, or the job that I go to every day where I can literally feel the darkness of death trying to envelop me, or even the desire to feel that I’m doing something that is meaningful to me and the world. This is only a part of the rope that I feel tightening around my throat, cutting off my air supply and bringing water to my eyes.
I’ve come to realize that sitting around, watching movies like 2012 and talking about to nearness of the endtimes is not a good thing for me. Dwelling on impending doom and difficulty that is to come and trying to ascertain what my part in all of the coming chaos is to be causes me to think that all of my dreams and desires are futile. Seriously. What’s the point of going to graduate school and (most likely) accruing debt if there’s a coming financial crisis that’s bigger than the one we’re in (where I already can’t afford to live)? What’s the point of pursuing a Journalism degree when the world has (and will continue to develop) bigger problems? What’s the point of getting married and thinking about having kids if we’re all going to die anyway? And why does the enemy constantly work to make me think my dreams are pointless and hoping for the desires of my heart is an exercise in futility?
In the midst of all of these questions, I find myself wondering what in the world I'm doing here, feeling miserable. If I had a dollar for every time someone has asked me why I chose to move here after hearing the story of my life over the last five years, I'd be able to buy at least a couple meals. I have an answer for why I came. I just don't necessarily have one for why I'm still here.
So, I'm praying. I realize that my resume is going to look like I have ADHD, but I have this plan that's been floating around in my head for months that I'm seriously considering: if I don’t find full-time work in January where I can pay my bills without stressing and (at least half-way) look forward going to, I’m seriously thinking of raising funds to live in South America until graduate school starts so that I can rebuild my Spanish language skills. I honestly believe it would be a better investment at this point in my life than what I’m currently doing.
I hate butterflies. Really. I also hate birds. But I identify with my friend’s description of herself. My heart comes alive when I think of the possibility of exploring new countries and engaging the culture there. Everything within me tells me that there has to be more … more than driving to this funeral home, crunching numbers and working on spreadsheets, trying to understand the negativity that dwells here and how the people who have worked here for 20+ years find contentment in this business. It tells me that I still am only half alive, just like I’ve been for most of my life … biding my time in yet another transitional period.
I wonder if butterflies realize how short their life is and that there's none available to just “bide”?
