There is a fly that has been in my room for two days now. I've watched him fly from place to place, landing where he will. He investigates my computer, bumps into the dresser, sits on the wall, and stares out the window. He reminds me a little of the life I have been thrown into. The one that I have no idea how to navigate. It's like swimming in a huge ocean. Some days the ocean is calm and settled. Some days it is wild and overwhelming. Some days my arms are strong enough to swim, some days they cannot fight another wave.
I'm overwhelmed by the little things. The anger is seeping back in and my heart yearns for what it cannot have. The thrill, the chase, the power all allude me. I'm simply back to being me, whatever that means.
Where is the confident cold-hearted seductress? The powerful women that could handle foreign countries, foreign languages, foreign men. She is giving into the comfortable, becoming what others expect and giving up on the adventure. The work boots didn’t give her comfort, the teasingly short dresses are hung up in the closet and her Portugal self is shelved next to her other various old selves that serve no purpose any longer. She's making things complicated, adding to the drama, unable to decide whether to laugh or breakdown and cry. She's losing the "no faz mal" attitude.
Where are the words that were her addiction? The words that give her comfort and soothed her soul. The ones that brought peace and sweet release. They are lost behind lessons of calculus and chemistry, stress and expectations. They are hauntingly quiet when they are needed the most.
How can I be happy here, when I long for my adventure there?