What’s Next?
I am an accidental Bohemian.
Life doesn’t ever seem to go according to plan.
There is no version of James between the ages of 18–29 who guessed he’d be living in a sharehouse in Melbourne for a couple months, figuring out what to do next.
I read the script that society handed me when I was 18, that twentieth-century one that says to find a career, grab a mortgage, get married and have kids, and I said “sure, that sounds like something I could get amongst.” At different times I’ve been close to every one of those things (including a scare) but, alas, at 30 I have none to speak of.
That isn’t to say I didn’t have a career, I just wanted something different after 13 years — there’s only so much soldiering one can take before a desire to be creative takes over.
This also isn’t a complaint of being 30 years old, debt free, and having nothing to tie me down. Let’s not get anything twisted. But it is an admission that my circumstances are a complete accident, and in direct contravention of my best laid plans and desires.
It’s as if, somehow, I am an accidental Bohemian.
Is it me? Or is the universe, which has an incredible sense of humour, just taking the piss out of me? Maybe a bit of both. I do often feel as fussy as Goldilocks when feeling (and thinking) my way into a direction or purpose. But if I was supposed to live according to that script I was handed, wouldn’t the universe have made the role more exciting? Or at least a little more palatable?
I feel like a breathing contradiction. I want it all, all at once, but make it interesting, will you? Simple enough. I’m not asking for much.
I know I’m in a process here, and not exactly sure of the lessons I’m learning right now, but I am aware that I am learning them. It is only in the comfort of hindsight where anyone is granted the meaning of their discomfort, or at least as far as I can tell.
I’m getting better (or faster) at recognizing some of the things I’m learning (or think I’m learning). In the context of Jonathan Haidt’s elephant and rider analogy, my rider (thinking brain) is getting pretty good at guessing the “why” of the elephant (the subconscious, feeling brain), and describing rational lessons from the elephant’s seemingly irrational feelings.
I, like many men (and probably people generally), have a tendency to think in terms of objectives. I’m sure this’ll sound familiar: when I get there, I’ll be happy or when I do this, I’ll feel good. Forever on the hedonic treadmill, chasing dreams like a carrot dangling in front of me. It doesn’t matter my pace, I can never quite get there.
I thought for a long time that when I get to Australia, I’d be happy. But I’m aware of how foolish that was, particularly now that I’m here, with the rapid arrival of the ever present “what’s next?”
The lesson that stood out to me most over the past few weeks is that I don’t need (or want) to be in a particular place. The emphasis is on the people, my people. Most of all, I want to explore one particular budding relationship — but that requires patience that I seem to be in short supply of.
Conversely, I also feel that many of the stresses that come from moving around the world by myself have inoculated me — now that I’ve done it once, I know what it’s like, I know what to expect, and it may even be easier. I have a palpable urge to run.
But not wanting to be anywhere only means I’ll be uncomfortable everywhere.
I feel like no matter how far I run and no matter what I do, I’ll be led back to her, the person I think I want to be with.
Seeing that statement written out helps to dull the urge to flee aimlessly, but it doesn’t do much for the annoyance of having to wait patiently for what’s next. Nor does it assuage my eternal restlessness.
Oh well, life is a process (just like happiness), not a destination, apparently — so I have nothing left to do but fill time with things that are meaningful, fun, or interesting (or some dream combination of all … but I can’t be too greedy).
What’s next?
