We tell ourselves we're fine with temporary. That we're okay with uncertainty. We're adventurers, after all. We're independent. We don't need to be tied down, nor do we want it. We set off on our grand adventures, too consumed with wanderlust and excitement and fear to worry about what comes afterwards.
But then we break our own rules. We fall in love with places. We fall in love with people. We start sprouting roots from our heels and by the time we've noticed, it's already too late.
And then, everything changes.
There are now certain things that we don't let ourselves think about. Isn't it better to live in the moment? Isn't it best to not get ahead of ourselves? But our thoughts become inconveniently unravelled at 2 AM on a work night, with blankets tangled around our restless feet. We feel the roots twitching in our heels again, but this time, we welcome the feeling -- if only for a few minutes. We start imagining what our lives could be like if only we could just plant ourselves somewhere and just stop moving.
Roots mean strength. Stability. Comfort. But stability is a luxury that can't be afforded by those of us on a two-year, non-renewable Visa.
It was our choice to begin our adult lives with uncertainty and adventure. We knew it would be difficult at the beginning. What we didn't realize is that we were signing ourselves up for a round-trip ticket into the unknown. We didn't think about how difficult it would be on the other side. You see, when your life as you know it is on a timeline, it gets harder and harder to ignore the fact that the end is and always has been in sight. Two years is a long time to let your roots grow. So when the time comes to rip them out again, it's inevitably going to be messy.
The year mark has come and gone on my Visa, despite any efforts I've taken to ignore that fact. I have a stable job. I love the city I live in. I've fallen into a comfortable, predictable routine. But lately, that routine has started to include little methods of disconnecting from my current life, of slowly pulling the roots out. Scrolling through job boards in cities back home. Researching post-grad programs. Worrying, constantly. What if I can't find a job back home? What if I can't afford to live where I want? What if I come back, and I'm just not happy?
I wish I could feel as effortless as I did when I thought "I'm just going to move to England for a year, maybe more". I didn't have any expectations. But now I've had a taste of how things could be, and even so, I'm still not quite sure what I want. Things aren't perfect here by any means, but at least I know that I have a job, a place to live, friends, a boyfriend... the list goes on. And yet, so does that ever-ticking clock.
So what now? What can us temporary, timeline-bound travellers do when our time is running out?
I don't have an easy answer. I think it's okay to be carefree and spontaneous for a while, to not think about the inevitable until it's the right time to do so. But once the worrying sets in, that means it's time to start making a plan, to start shifting your mindset. This shift in mindset has only occurred for me within the last couple of weeks. Before that, I would gently steer conversations away from the usual questions like: "What are you going to do when your Visa is up? Do you want to live in Ontario? Would you stay in England if you could?". But now, I am talking peoples' ears off about my mini quarter-life crisis, pitching my various hopes and plans to anyone who will listen in attempts to gain some clarity.
And what's been the result of all this?
Well for one, I'm now starting to see the end of my timeline as less of a jarring conclusion, and more as a new beginning. I've always been one to keep moving, to be happiest when I'm looking ahead to the next 'thing'. Once I can start constructing an idea of what this new beginning might look like, I can start directing my energy towards achieving it instead of throwing out aimless stress into the void. I'm appreciating the little moments that will come to define my time here in England, that I know I'll look back on some day with that bittersweet, nostalgic feeling in my heart. It's all I can do. It's all any of us can do.
So when you ask "what comes next?" and are met with a vague or dismissive response, this is why. We know that you're asking out of love, out of well-meaning curiosity. But sometimes we just don't know how to answer, because we're still sorting out the next step of our journey and it can be a scary thing to do. We'll figure it out in the end, though. Because somewhere deep down, we're still adventurers, despite the roots twitching in our feet. Once again, we will open up our arms to the unknown. And just as we've always found a way to do, we will be okay.
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| A road, because metaphors. |
- C.
