The One-Month Blues

It's been a difficult couple of days, though nothing in particular is wrong.

I didn't want to hang out with the new CouchSurfers today. I hid in my room while my roommate greeted them. I worked in my bed, propped up against pillows.

I hate working from bed.

The calendar on my wall has nothing penciled in for this week until Saturday. Saturday! Big empty square spaces of no plans. The New Yorker would come today, though; I'd look up some new things to do and the calendar would be lively and full again. Maybe I should use colored markers this time. Brighten the thing up a bit.

The New Yorker didn't come.

I decided to go for a walk after work. Get some fresh air, enjoy the park, people watch. It was raining, so instead I went to the bagel store.

Standing in line, the cheapest, dirtiest way to my heart came on the radio. You have one of these songs, too. The one that was getting airplay when your heart was being broken. Some stupid pop thing with a line that guts you, usually insulting in its simplicity. But you couldn't get away from it -- it was in the grocery store, at the bar, coming out of car windows. And years later you still can't hear the thing without being pulled right back to the hollow feeling you felt then.

Bagel store, I really don't need this right now.

I went home and made tea and stared at the dark feeling in my rib cage. Not the rain. Not the song. Not the failures of Conde Nast's subscription services. Not even the potential friend who had said she'd get in touch on Friday but didn't, or the fact that last night I couldn't think of a thing to do and ended up watching a movie that made me cry.

It's called transition, I know that all too well. Turns out it comes a little bit faster when you're on your home turf.

As a traveler I didn't backpack, I moved from place to place. As such, I became a bit obsessed with the nuances of transition, how it hits you and when. The two month mark, the six month mark, the nine month mark, and the year mark. Those were the dots on my map.

It's only been one month! I'm thinking now. It's not time for this yet!

But so it is. There's not as much to adjust to here, so the work of getting settled in a superficial way is proving to be somewhat faster going than anticipated. And it's on to the next stage: the craving for a life.

The highs don't go away now, which is a relief. I can still expect to be honeymooning off and on for a while. And I also know that the best part is a few months down the road. But the initial bliss is over (so soon!).

Making a commitment, whether to a place, a job, or a person, puts you on the sharp emotional edge of life. When something good happens, you are exhilarated, beside yourself with love. Things have never been this good before. Then, when there's even the slightest aberration from that thrilling feeling -- a dull evening, a plan that doesn't work out right -- it hits you far harder than it should. It brings on doubt. This is what it's always going to be like. Maybe this is a mistake.

I have said many times before, publicly and privately, that I was going to stick it out somewhere and really get through all of the tough times. And I failed every time. I'm committed to making it, this time. I want it more than I ever have before. The alternative has ceased to be a viable way for me to live. At the base of it, I know that I need this.

But commitment is scary, folks. It's time to stop telling myself that this is going to be a breeze, and time to face up to what's going to be a lot of adjustment.

Mint tea, make me calm. Take me to sleep.