Rain and Cereal

Two things:  I am an awful gorcery shopper.  Also, it's raining.  This is why I am sitting in my living room, looking out on the city of Gwangmyeong with a bowl of cereal for dinner, thankful that because of the rain I can enjoy the cool breeze of my door being open without mosquitos flying in.

Lately I've been wondering how much longer the city will be comfortable for me.  Plans, as they tend to do, have morphed into something I don't quite recognize yet.  I've always, I think, preferred the complicated city where there's always something to do--always noise to out the noise in your head.  Now I'm a new person, open to growing, accepting of who I am in this moment. In moments like this, with the hum of my lightbulbs and the patter of the rain, I can just barely make out a faint outline of this new life that might be waiting for me.

Before I left the states, many people were curious about this suspicious year gallavanting in a faraway land and were genuinely concerned about my "life plan", something, it seems, that is really only heard in America.  In a sharp reaction to something someone said about "after Korea" I retorted that of course I'll come back to New York and persue a "real" career as soon as it's over.  After Korea.  To me and to this supposing stranger Korea seemed like magical land where time would be spent in a dream.  As if I were leaving the world to go to Korea, and afterwards I'd re-emerge in some English-speaking metropolitis, hustling for the best job, apartment, and boyfriend in search of "success". 

After two months here I find myself in what seems like some sort of drug-induced haze only because I'm writing this: I find myself questioning what it is that makes us who we are, and what we will become. Is it what we have, what we want, or what we need? I'm questioning not only who we are, but what it means to be happy.

Chungpyeong, where I realized that
slowing down was kind of nice.

I have an old, farily shitty, but full-of-character apartment in a suburb of Seoul, a job where I get to act like a kid, and a bunch of alcohol-loving friends.  I want an endless adventure that's always stimulating me physically and mentally with someone who cares about the things I do but also challenges me, and a job that allows me--no, wants me--to seek that adventure.  I need someone on the sidelines, telling me that it's all okay. 

Korea is not some black hole where one magically reappears on the 365th day of their contract headed back home on a plane with some souveneirs.  It's very, very real, and it took me two months but I have Korean classes I'm expected at, a boxing gym I belong to, a convenience store on my corner that recognizes me, but always speaks fluent Korean to me regardless as if I'll understand. A phone contract and a bank account.  An alien registration card. I'm meeting people that are coming and going in and out of my life at an alarming rate.  I'm suprising myself at just how much I'm capable of.  I'm exploring relationships, messing them up, and figuring out how to (or whether I should) piece them together.

Ten months left of this particular contract to go, and I have no answers.  There are no plans--only that faint outline that's forever morphing, depending on what angle I look at it from.  At my highest, lowest, most shallow and most introspective the shape has yet to choose a set formation.  And I'm left with only my thoughts, from the most abstract to the most mundane.  And to those wondering about this so-called "after": it's okay.  Turns out, there is no after, no fabled ending to try to arrive at, no specific dinner your supposed to have.  If you have cereal, enjoy the cereal, and tommorrow is another day to learn, grow, and evolve.

The Graduate's Dilemma

Throughout college, I waited impatiently for the end of college. 

Last June, I saw all my friends graduate and have that moment of panic: that "what do I do now?" moment.  I decided that couldn't possibly happen to me.  I've been working outside of school; my life is more outside of school than in it.  I'll be fine.  Then I graduated this December, and all that was shattered.  I was out in the world, free to do whatever I wanted: meanwhile I've stayed at my old job, continued serving tables, and continued living in New York City.  It seems that there are so many things I want to do, so many opportunities, that I've actually done nothing.  It feels like I'm trying to move to the left, right, front and back all at the same time...which leaves me right where I am. 
Even this blog--even this post--is going in so many directions and I can't even pretend to control it. All I know, as of very recently, is that I am moving to South Korea to become a teacher.  The paperwork is in progress. 


I guess, like characters in a play, there are the people in my life that represent all of these things:
First of all there are my parents.  Neither of them have ever left the country, and don't plan on doing so.  When I was twelve, the whole family went to Niagra Falls, and we stayed on the U.S. side the entire time. My parents are in many ways creatures of habit.  For ten years, we went to the same place for vacation: Orlando. All seven family members drove the eighteen hours there, went to the same amusement parks, on the same rides, went to the same resort, and drove the eighteen hours back.  While they are taking the fact that I want to move to what is technically a war zone fairly well, my mother is also doing very well at assuring me that there is plenty to do here in America on a regular basis.



Then there are the two most inspirational people in my life: my boss and my co-worker at NYPR.  My boss is sort of my unofficial mentor.  She has taught me so much about myself inadvertently--we are kind of the same person, twenty years apart.  Over wine last week, I told her about my plans, and she was genuinely excited for me.  After she graduated, she moved abroad for a year, and she said it became her first empowering moment.  One of my biggest concerns in life is not fitting in all I want to do, but knowing this woman has made me realize that there is an incredibly long amount of time to everything and anything.  From Executive Producer, to college professor, to professional dancer, to living in South America, to moving to Ethiopia for two years, to becoming a mother--life can be all you want from it, and having her is a constant reminder to not be afraid to commit to things.  My co-worker is my age, and her resolution last year was to follow through and do what she said she was going to do.  It sounds simple, but in that time she's said some interesting things out loud: from "I'm moving to Cambodia for three months" to "I'm going to compete in a triathlon".  And so far, she's done them all.  Without her, I don't know if I would have the courage to do what I say out loud.  So, one opens my mind to all the opportunities that will come across in my life, and the other gives me the courage to grab hold of them and do so.  Having them as constant reminders of this has been truly moving and I'm so thankful to know both.


Then there is this guy I just met. This may sound strange, but it's weird that he's already got me thinking so much--I've known him for maybe a week.  Yet, he is completely open to everything in life in a way I had sort of have forgotten how to do.  I met him in my pajamas for goodness sakes, hungover in a big way, and still he somehow listened to our conversation with interest and still asked me out for some reason.  He keeps his heart and mind open in a way I can't help but admire.  When we first spoke, he mentioned "Sleep No More".  When my friend mentioned it to me an hour later I decided I had to go see it.  That, however, was committing to a Wednesday night show. I mentioned I was moving to Seoul, and his friend two days later told him he got a job there...so this guy decided he should move to South Korea too. Of course, who knows what will actually happen when life gets in the way.  The point is to appreciate everything that comes into your life, and accept that it is happening for a reason.



Then, as the oldest of five children, there are my siblings.  I'm honestly not sure how they feel.  I guess, with my being the odd one in the family, they aren't really surprised...they expect this kind of stuff from me.  My brother actually said, in an honest, straight-forward way that is foreign to my family's sarcastic tendencies, that he would miss me.  My youngest sister, Sammy Jo, misses me even from New Jersey now.  One of my favorite things in the world is coming home to her running to the door for a huge hug, then seeing her a moment later prancing around the house in my shoes.  The older sister is just turning twenty-one, and my other brother will be graduating high school...it would feel strange, missing all these milestones.  No one in my family has ever left for anywhere.  So far, the oldest three have all gone to college in the tri-state area.  Leaving would be heart-breaking...but I guess it's better to have it hurt because you love something so much.  In the end, I have to keep reminding myself that part of being the oldest is showing the younger ones what they are capable of.  I can't take full credit, but being the first to move out, to get a job, to follow my crazy career path, etc....I hope it helped make it a little less scary for my brothers and sisters than it was for me.


Making this list of people in my life, I've realized there is no one--not even my parents--that are telling me not to go.  Something about it is just so freeing, and so fleeting, everyone has either felt that rush and wants it for me or regrets ever having it (except, I think, my parents).  Who knows what will happen in the future, what might make me stay here or in another city, or if I'll ever have the opportunity to just pick up and leave again.


This, as I expected, has been a crazy first post.  I hope no one finds this blog until it actually has a point.