I am addicted to beginnings. I love the the moment before something begins, when the possibilities are endless and the potential unbounded. Is there a name for that?
Often, I see my life spiraling out in the style of a movie montage. I know you know exactly what I’m talking about. That moment when a character decides to turn their life around and hits the gym on repeat, or studies really hard, or learns how to cook properly and through a rapid secession of scenes we watch that character change from caterpillar to butterfly. The change is always absolute, beautiful, and inspirational.
If I close my eyes, I can see my past beginnings spill out in a memory montage too. For example, my first morning in Beer Sheva — September 2nd, 2014. I woke up at 5:30, the sun was rising and I was alone in my new shoebox apartment. I opened the windows and let the curtains billow in the desert breeze. I made myself some instant coffee and stood by the window watching the rising sunlight touch all of the buildings I did not yet know. They would become a part of my everyday life, but in that moment they were tall and beige and strange.
I sat at the kitchen table, my kitchen table, crosslegged and wrote in my purple journal. I wrote about my flight, leaving America, and what I expected. But I really had no idea what was to happen — and that’s the beauty of it all. I had no way to know what was in store and so I had to have a little faith that it would be fine. I was anxious, nervous and ready to begin.
Next month, I am moving to Spain to teach English. It’s already been a bit of a struggle to obtain background checks, medical checks, proper documentation, and ultimately my visa. I’ve made and cancelled 3 appointments at the Chicago consulate because I can’t go until I receive another piece of paper from Washington D.C. The wait and rigid bureaucracy of it all is killing me — but I must be patient, and I must remember why I am choosing to move to Spain.
Another year, another city, another school, another life. I need to have a little faith that it will be okay, that I will be okay. I need to have a little faith, hold my breath and jump into another beginning.