Part of my Monday ritual is going out for lunch, usually to Chipotle. It helps me kind of ease-in to the work week, have a moment for myself, while I read up on tech news. There's a new location amidst Disney's college program apartments, slightly closer to me and without many traffic lights. Today, when I pulled in, a young woman was coming out with her burrito, and got into her car next to me. I couldn't help but notice that the little Toyota Corolla, possibly the same year as the one I had last, was filled with what I assume was all of her worldly possessions. Her license plate was from California. Given the location, it's probably reasonable to concur that she was here to work for the rat and move into one of these spots.
The whole scene made me kind of excited for this total stranger that I'll never see again. I could see it in her body language, that she was out of her element, but at the same time, she was in a completely new place where it felt like anything was possible. Just describing it, and relating it to my own life, feels exciting.
My relationship with new adventures and possibilities is complicated. Pivotal times in my life fit into this bucket, and despite any uncertainty or discomfort, they were exciting. Starting college was likely the biggest of these times, but starting my first few jobs were also like that. Certainly moving to Seattle, with a baby on the way and new wife, is the biggest of new adventures. Moving to Orlando was a close second.
But I also got into ruts that were hard to break out of, which I now better understand to be a symptom of autism. I know from my own post-mortem of my first marriage that I was stubbornly set on staying put in the area, when getting out of Ohio was probably what I needed more than anything. I sat in several jobs that were clearly dead-ends and not interesting in those days, too. There were a lot of routines I had that felt safe and comfortable in, and I think that closed me off to what could have been.
Midlife has brought me to a place where I crave new adventures and possibilities, but I'm crippled by realities and risks that may or may not be real. Most of this revolves around the need to have enough financial security to get my kid into adulthood and set up our third act. People refer to that as retirement, but as I wrote a few weeks ago, what I'm really looking at is the ability to work only on things that bring meaning and purpose. A friend of mine calls it the "fuck off" career stage. All of the chaos and uncertainty in the world makes that future look even murkier.
So when I saw that young woman from California, I felt connected to her situation. I realize that so many of my dreams, the school dreams especially, must indicate a desire to have those opportunities again. Or maybe I want do-overs, able to approach them with knowledge and wisdom I didn't have before. Maybe I want that kind of sustained high associated with those transitions. I know a lot of people talk about the feelings of starting a new school year, or kissing someone for the first time, and while those are powerful and intense feelings, transitioning into a big change of scenery is something else.
I don't know what this sort of thing might look like, and regardless, I don't feel like the time is right. I mourn those opportunities. I mourn that I can't think of them, and that I think I can't exercise them. Meanwhile, I look at things like a couple buying a drive-in movie theater and think, why can't that be me? I don't know. Fear and anxiety turn off opportunity.
The optimist in me believes that what I'm really doing is being patient. Being able to shake things up feels inevitable, and it's just a matter of time. Not a lot of time.
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