(i)
I am on a train on my way to get Italian ice, my favorite Chicago dessert, a treat for my birthday. We are stopped because of mysterious mechanical difficulties (#chicago). I have two tote bags with me because I need to buy some groceries on my way to night class, but the combination of bags, the blue maxi dress I’m wearing, the large umbrella, and my uncharacteristic lack of makeup me look about 10 years older and a lot crazier than I really am (see photo). I don’t usually show my face on this platform, but for posterity I feel it’s important you know what I look like.
(ii)
The train I was on is now stopped “indefinitely” (whatever that means), so I just hopped over to a different train—it’ll take me to class but we will have to bypass the stop at Anita’s Italian Ice. On the new car I am standing next to the door while a distracted woman’s groceries slowly roll out of her shopping back and hit the back of my Chacos. This is probably a good metaphor for the last ten years of my life— my first ten as an adult. We have:
✅ attempting to be prepared for future events;
✅ a change of plans due to unforeseen circumstances beyond my control;
✅ feeling sort of awkward and not myself;
✅ public transit, and its closest companion—
✅ odd interactions with strangers.
(iii)
The last ten years have been a sea of confusion, excitement, illness, indecision, trauma, heartbreak, little celebrations, and long conversations. I feel like I’ve moved 100 times and been dozens of different people. I’ve dealt with big disappointments, attended big ceremonies, felt big feelings, and experienced big politics. I’ve had big ups and even bigger downs and I’m miraculously still here. I’ve been an adult for ten years now and I’ve learned that, while I’d prefer not to have things go south when I’m en route to a celebratory Italian ice date with myself, I also know that these minor setbacks aren’t going to send me into an existential crisis anymore. While I may not have gotten my preferred dessert today, I did go to Whole Foods and grab, in addition to a balanced dinner, a strawberry popsicle that basically tasted like the same thing. It’s not how I would normally get ready to face the world (I haven’t gone grocery shopping since coming back from vacation this morning, hence the grab-n-go dinner), but I’m making the best of what I have available to me under the circumstances, read: tired, time-zone-confused, en route to night class.
I am not anywhere close to where I thought I’d be at this time ten years ago. I am not a doctor. I do not have children. I am not living in England working as a shoe designer, nor am I rich, nor am I remotely famous. I weigh more, am less active, and have less money than I would like. (I am also not supposed to admit one of these things, but it is how I feel right now and I don’t want to sugarcoat my experience). I am, however, generally ok with all of these things. I’m becoming a therapist (+social worker), which is what I always secretly knew I would do, and I find an odd comfort in knowing that I was actually right about something when I was 15.
What I have not achieved in celebrity or prestige I have accomplished ten-fold in human connections. I have a wonderful partner, a solid network of amazing friends I sometimes feel I do not deserve, and overall a pretty amazing life. I can travel to dozens of states and countries and stay with people who are happy to spend time with me. I have a family who, for the most part, supports who I am and what I want to do. Children I once taught are now adult mentees with whom I continue to collaborate and celebrate milestones. The journey to this point has not been easy but when I look back on my first decade of adulthood I think only of how lucky I feel to be me. Disheveled bag woman or not, I am living an even better life than I could ever have imagined ten years ago. I like myself more than I could have ever conceived, thanks to therapy and… well, mostly therapy. I am so lucky. I am 28, I am alive and well, and even though Donald Trump is the president, I kinda can’t wait to see what comes next.
weary traveler 