A lot has happened since I last
wrote, and quite honestly the sheer amount of things I could write about are
too overwhelming for me to actually sit down and do it. I thought I wanted to
write chronologically, but I keep having to force myself to write about past
adventures. So instead, here’s a piece about staying in the present.
In the
middle of April, I had a two week long break from school. Three friends and I rented
a minivan to drive around the South Island and hit everything we wanted to do.
Mostly our trip consisted of hiking, cooking on the side of the road, drooling
at nature, and spooning to keep warm at night. Before we left, I was frustrated
with myself. I felt like my brain was being pulled in a million directions. I
had school work that I wasn’t doing, I missed home, I was worried about signing
up for classes, I was anxious about spending money, I missed my cats, I was mad
at myself for not writing more. There was always something to fret about. Time
felt like it was moving so slowly. It crawled by. I felt like I would be in New
Zealand for the rest of my life and it’d be years until I saw my loved ones
again. My trip stretched out like an eternity in front of me.
I didn’t
want to be where I was. My mind was in Baltimore, in Amherst, in Worcester, in
the woods, on mountains. I was anywhere except where I physically existed. I
knew I was having an amazing experience, but I couldn’t focus on it. I was constantly
wishing I was doing something else.
My
solution was to dye my hair. (It helped).
However,
it didn’t solve everything. I felt better, but almost immediately after dying
it, I went on my trip where I spent most of my time not showering, and not
being around enough mirrors to actually notice the change myself. The thrill of
the change faded quickly. I was stuck feeling… stuck.
A few
days into the trip I was starting to get really mad at myself. I had used over
2GB of data on my phone trying to connect with people I missed who were far
away. I would have anxiety about when I would get to talk to my family or my
friends next, constantly hoping for service or wifi to check in. Time was still
moving slowly, the way it does when you’re conscious of every second that
passes. When you long to be somewhere else, each minute that goes by feels like
a hundred. I was getting mad at myself because I was on the trip of a fucking
lifetime and all I wanted to do was be somewhere else. I didn’t feel like I was
present at all, and I knew I’d regret it as soon as I was back home.
As we
started getting into the thick of our trip, service became spotty enough that I
couldn’t rely on it at all. That, and I had spent about $40 more than I had
wanted to on data over the course of four days. I stopped checking my phone as
much, but I still found myself missing
people. Missing them so deeply that it hurt. It felt like it took me out of the
moment. I couldn’t be fully there unless I could share it with the people I love.
It made me feel panicked. What if I spent the whole trip missing these people,
and I never fully enjoyed anything? Why was I so preoccupied and obsessed with my
phone, constantly needing to know what my friends were doing?
I kept
reminding myself; “Jenna, stop thinking about them, be present. Be here.”
But
here’s the thing- what the fuck does it mean to be present? Does it mean I can’t
wish I was with someone else? Does it mean I can’t miss someone? Does it mean
my mind has to be completely clear, completely content, and only then will I enjoy
my surroundings?
If it
does, fuck that. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been fully “present”
if that’s what the definition is. And yet that’s the standard I was trying to
hold myself to during that first part of the trip.
So I decided
to throw that out the window. Why couldn’t me missing someone add to my
experience instead of taking away from it? Why couldn’t I miss the comforts of
my home in addition to loving the adventure of New Zealand? Why did I expect
such impossible standards of happiness from myself? Why did a bad mood have to “ruin”
the moment?
As the
trip went on, I started to notice that if I acknowledged what I was feeling,
who or what I was feeling nostalgic for, and pictured what I would do or say if
I could have them with me, things got better. Instead of lamenting that someone
wasn’t with me, I would take pictures of the things I would have pointed out to
them. I’d write down the things I’d want to say to them. I’d solidify the
moment in my head more concretely by making my loved ones a part of it in my
imagination.
Time is
still moving at a weird pace. I only have two months left of my study abroad
experience. I have five weeks left of classes. In 70 days I return home to work
at the same restaurant in the same town with the same people. It might feel
like nothing has changed, and that New Zealand was all just a dream. I might
get nostalgic for my time on this ridiculously gorgeous island. I might have
trouble being present once I’m back home. I can easily picture myself wishing
to be back here, back in this weird fairy tale land. And maybe this trick won’t
translate to that familiar environment, but maybe it will. Maybe when I miss my
friends from study abroad, or I miss the mountains, I can just picture them
with me at the moment I miss them, and it’ll feel like they’re right there next
to me.
Comments
Post a Comment