I didn’t find my Ikigai (and that’s okay)
Saying goodbye is hard. Which is why I ran away 3 weeks early. My last day left me emotionally drained and hilariously puffy from all the ugly crying. I stayed puffy for another 22 hours afterwards, bursting into random fits of tears while sandwiched between strangers at 35,000 feet. And then I was home.
I used to tell people, in a pseudo-Tolstoy-esque way, that happy people don’t go on Remote Year. Not that Remote Year is filled with unhappy, depressed people, but we are all discontent with something. And maybe also running away from something. And searching for something to fill the Gaping Emptiness within? Just kidding, that’s just me.
The irony of Ikigai is not lost upon me (irony — am I using that right?). Probably coincidence is more appropriate, ha. I suppose that 12 months was not enough time to find it, and maybe I will never find it (but that’s okay!; see title ^)
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned on Remote Year, it’s that things can change so quickly and nothing lasts forever. We will never be here in Mendoza again, getting rosé drunk and rolling around on a freshly manicured lawn on a Father’s Day. We will never be in Sofia again, sliding down a mountain in 2 feet of snow, wearing only Converses and trying to FaceTime our family members. We will never be in the FUCKING SAHARA DESERT again, trying desperately not to inhale sand or camel poop as we lay on the side of a dune to spell out “Ikigai” with our sunburnt bodies.
But there’s also nothing like spending a year derping abroad with 70 other amazing derps to make you appreciate the things you had back home. I have a great life, filled with amazing people, in an amazing city. I am currently contemplating a cross country move. I am terrified.
It took Remote Year to realize what I had at home all along. And the thought of losing it all, of saying goodbye to another incredible group of people and potentially never seeing them again, is devastating. Because I will never be here again either. I will never be on Newbury Street again, bar/restaurant hopping on a Friday night with girls who I spent a grueling 2-year fellowship with. I will never be in Brighton again, BBQing and playing Kubb (Google it) on my friend’s lawn. I will never be in the Fells again, hiking with my amazing roommate and my pup. And I will never be in Union Square again, with my boyfriend at the farmers market down the street from his apartment, which we go to every Saturday, to buy our groceries and obligatory hipster artisanal donuts and cold pressed juice.
Another RY lesson: A city is just another city. It’s the people you’re with who make it worthwhile. And what is a life, if there is no one to share it with? Cherish the time you have with these people. CHERISH IT. It all ends too quickly.
Do I really want to start all over again, on another coast, in another city? More importantly, why was I so discontent to leave everything behind for RY in the first place? Will I become discontent again, and regret not leaving? Or will I hate where I end up, and regret not staying? Only this time, there’s no home to go back to.
Life is a not a “Give Yourself Goosebumps” book, damn you RL Stine.
I am terrified. But I’m becoming braver. Cheers to Ikigai for helping me find courage I never knew I had. And for now, courage is enough.