Flying away, starting anew
there's no battle more difficult than the one inside my head.
I am at war with myself.
I shouldn’t be, though. I know what I should be doing—giving myself credit for just how far I’ve come. In the past two months, I’ve shown persistence that I’m even impressed by. It’s the results, however, that have led to this nagging sense of doubt I can’t seem to get rid of.
This story begins 11 years ago, when I boarded a bus in London to embark on a trip around Europe with strangers. A crisis had led to this moment—a process that would become a pattern, little did I know. I’d reserved the last spot on the TopDeck tour, a unique travelling experience for young people between 18 and 35. A friend, who I had originally planned to travel Europe with, ditched me at the last minute, and while having a rather memorable meltdown, my mom offered the suggestion for the tour.
On the bus, it felt like I was the only person who decided (or rather, was forced) to embark on this adventure alone. As chatter surrounded me, a stubborn and familiar thought entered my head—that I wouldn’t make any friends for the entire three weeks that the tour would last. As I sat with this reality, I put the song The Middle by Jimmy Eat World on repeat, finding comfort in the lyrics:
Hey, don't write yourself off yet
It's only in your head you feel left out
Or looked down on
Just try your best
Try everything you can
And don't you worry what they tell themselves
When you're away
It just takes some time
Little girl, you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything'll be just fine
Everything, everything'll be alright, alright
Perhaps through manifestation or the resignation that there was no point in being anything other than myself, I had three of the best weeks of my 21 years at the time. I was also voted most likeable person at the end of the trip, the greatest honour bestowed on me—greater than the popularity I accrued while in high school. It was the first time I had felt so comfortable in my own skin and felt no pressure to wear the mask I had become accustomed to putting on at home. It was a freedom I had never known.
Almost 11 years to the day later (two months ago), I boarded a plane to Dubai with the intention of chasing that feeling—freedom—that I had experienced all that time ago. With my mom’s blessing (I know, crazy saying that as a 32-year-old but this is important to me), I sold my car and with the profit, I booked a two-month stay in the land of sand and desert, along with flight tickets, with a little money left to spend during my time here. Maybe naively, I thought that I could find a job and start anew.
That was the beginning of July. And honestly, my expectations have been mostly met. I’ve come across the most amazing people here, and I’ve been able to live in the same city as my best friend for the first time in three years. I’ve laughed and danced. I haven’t felt labelled, and I haven’t felt the need to try to live up to labels I’ve often obliged myself to live up to. Most importantly, my nervous system hasn’t been in fight or flight mode for the first time in years. This is the happiest I’ve been.
So, what is the problem? You may be asking yourself that question at this point.
So am I. Maybe this is an attempt to return to the chaos; maybe I don’t know how to live a life of ease, even though that’s the only thing I’ve desired for so many years.
I was speaking to a close friend last night and he told me, in his own words, that he was proud of me for the way I’ve grown while being here. Since the beginning of this year, he has gone through it all with me—the tears, the meltdowns, and the frustrations of my chaotic life. Often, he would be the voice of reason, a safe place for me to land. He has reminded me, with a saint-like amount of patience, of my power and my potential—never with judgment, but always with accountability. For him to tell me that he recognizes growth is something I don’t take lightly.
I, however, have felt like a failure. I so confidently announced my plans to come to Dubai to find a job—which has not transpired. I can’t help but feel ashamed that I had the audacity to think that it would be that easy. I get the sense that I don’t deserve it with my track record of hurting people with my avoidant ways. That I don’t have the right to be happy and succeed at life when I haven’t taken full responsibility for my wrongs. That the people who watch me silently on social media despite expressing their disdain for me are talking amongst themselves, saying things like, “Serves her right for thinking that she could earn the right to a joyful life.”
I am very aware of the self-pity in this whole thought process. It’s clear as day. But the devil screams loudly from my left shoulder, “How dare you believe? How dare you have faith? How dare you have hope?” and sometimes that is all I hear. I know the God I believe in represents forgiveness and second chances and love but I tend to think that maybe I haven’t punished myself enough.
Another part of me sees this as a test of faith. One that reminds me that I am in control of nothing and no one, except my actions and my responses to situations. I imagine that God knows how much I struggle with surrender and it is only then that my act of faith will yield desirable results. I also know that what I want and what God’s will for me are most likely vastly different from one another and although I can’t see it, maybe God is saving me from pain that I cannot yet fathom as the picture I am focusing on is so much tinier than His big picture.
Yes, I am at war with myself. But these words that I write are helping me see that it is faith that prevails. That there is actually nothing I need to do to earn goodness in—that it already exists in so many areas in my life. I can cry and grieve over things I regret and people I have lost, but this cannot take away from the abundance of goodness—angels in the form of humans, all around me—that I still have. I may not see how this is all going to play out right now but I do know I am loved and I am deserving, and whatever is meant for me will one day find me. May that be all that matters for now.
As Mary Oliver says:
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.