I have no idea what I’m doing. How many times does that sentence cross your mind in a day? It’s so easy to look at other people and remark on how wonderfully successful and put together they seem to be when in reality, we’re all thinking the same thing.
It drives me insane at times. There are so many questions that it feels like I should have found answers to by now. How does another degree compare to a few more years of work experience? What are the best ways to cultivate in-person relationships amid a global pandemic? Where do I want to be in five years? If I had to describe myself in one word, what would it be? These and many more plague my lonely angst riddled brain in the quieter moments when working from home or else relaxing solo style during yet another uneventful weekend. The faintest hint of monotony seeps into our daily routine if we’re not careful.
But it’s okay to not have all the answers. No one does. We’re all just human, going about our lives the best way we know how. What question are you answering in your life?
I always tell people that engineering is my plan B (a kickass plan B that is more than sufficient to pay the bills) but that my true dream is to one day write a bestseller. It’s a great conversation starter and one that usually gets a laugh or two. Of course, writing a book is easier said than done and that vision is still in the distant, undefined ‘someday’ so for now I’m happy to stick with engineering. However, I do enjoy the occasional creative free write and this is one of my current favorites despite being a little out of season. I wrote it last September, shortly after relocating to Indiana.
I love my new home. It’s a place for summer. You can see the inviting warmth in the halo surrounding each emerald leaf that refuses to lose its color with the early winter chill. You can hear it in the gentle hush of those leaves as they lull the world into a contented calm. Those tall trees arch over every path like spindly grandmothers with arms spread wide to embrace me and sooth all my worries. This is a good place, a warm, green, summer place.
But every now and then, I catch a glimpse of autumn and the scent of pine sapwafts past my nose, thick and sweet like honey. For an instant, the light changes. The fine bluing dusk of the forest matches the needles of a nearby spruce. I can see ancient ridges that were once the backs of dragons, now alive and ablaze with the fire of thousands of silver Aspens who’s colors have turned with the cool, clear air. They are slender monumental torches lighting the way home. The image is swept away just as it comes into view and I’m left missing the fall mountain green and the dazzling Aspen skyline.