Daggggggg–two posts in one day.
Anyway-
Lately, I have had a lot of decisions to make. Big ones, too. Not easy everyday decisions. Even THOSE get me all twisted up in my own thoughts and wants and needs.
For instance, recently, Shaun and I were planning a date night for ourselves. I was sick of the slimy fatty fried-ness of UC caf food, and Shaun was sick of cooking, so eating out was an obvious choice of activity for the evening.
“So…where should we eat?” Shaun asked.
“Nope, not deciding,” I refused.
“Well, I don’t really care where we eat,” Shaun said. “So, it’s up to you.”
“Okay, but as I recall, I made the last decision, so now it’s your turn.”
“No, no, no,” Shaun answered, laughing. “I’ve made like the last fifty decisions.”
“So make another one!” I suggested. “You KNOW I hate this!”
If you’ve ever had to make a decision involving me, or asked me to make one, you probably know how completely incompetent I am at dealing with choices. I don’t know why this is. I mean, I’m not the sort of person to let others walk all over me, nor am I satisfied with sitting silent with my own opinions. I like to have a say, I like to matter.
Maybe it’s because I’m a perfectionist. In school, in writing, in relationships, and, I suppose, even with decisions, I struggle to accept less than perfection. It makes me feel like I’m settling. The knowledge that there’s a possibility that there could be something out there that’s better-suited for me drives me crazy!
I just wish I could make a decision and rest in the faith of it.
Why don’t I trust my own judgment?
Any big decision I’ve ever made (i.e., where to go to college, what to major in, where to live), and even some small ones, cause my thoughts to start stewing in every obtainable outcome, good or bad. Even deciding what to wear on a daily basis becomes a multi-minute ordeal with me standing in front of my closet, mentally combining colors and cuts with possible accessories, never forgetting to take into consideration the weather, seasonal palette of hues, how my outfit will be perceived, and whether I should wear my hair curly or straight, up or down…
Yes, I know.
Insane, hmm?
Do you ever have moments of terrifyingly wonderful clarity?
When you realize that who you are and where you are and what you’re living for are all working in perfect tandem? When you find happiness in the simplest of coincidences, when you discover an easy love in the face of a friend, when you lie down at night and find the most overwhelming security in the knowledge that there’s a whole new empty day ahead of you?
I have these moments a lot, here in Chicago.
But now, stretched out in my bed on a Sunday afternoon, watching an episode of Friends I’ve seen twenty times, the sound of rain tickling a window I’ve get less than a week to sleep under…I’m FLIPPING out.
I just don’t want to leave.
Well, some of me does. I DO miss the Muncie-exclusives: family, friends, the front porch, Puerta.
But.
I just feel like I am a completely different person than when I left last August. I find happiness in new things, hold new passions, love new people. Leaving this place that has taught me so much about life, about myself, is going to be SO hard.
And I’m not sure how this new Naomi is going to fit in a place where the old Naomi once thrived, you know? I’m so much happier here, with this life here. I don’t know what going home is going to do to all this.
Dag.
I mean, it’s only for the summer. I’ll be moving into my Chicago apartment less than three months from now, and the way time has been passing lately, it will feel like weeks.
But still.
