The unknown can be terrifying. I have an anxious anger living in the pit of my stomach and the closer Sunday comes, the larger it grows.
At 22 years old, I picked up my life and moved to a Big city – Chicago. Aside from a cousin nearly 15 years older, I had no one I was running to. This was my first stab at true independence, although I hardly had a plan. A job? Well, sort of. Freelance work that I hoped would get me by, along with some savings from my childhood. Never did I doubt that that Big city would unfold my plans once I arrived. And, of course, it would… three years later.
Now, returning to that city again at 25, I know I am, somewhat, established. At least, this time, I have a real job. My apartment’s nicer, neighborhood – more entertaining, circle of friends – much larger. Yet still, I’m terrified.
How have I changed over the course of the past 3 and a half months? Have I changed at all? Will those changes affect my life in any noticeable way? Well, we won’t know until I find out.
The question of return is not even a question in my mind. I have felt doubt from those who love me, but I believe that’s more their concern. Mentally, I know I’m beyond ready. Physically, I can make it through. My body may not be 100%, but that could take many more months; and I am far too impatient to wait any longer. I truly believe, too, that if I waited until I was 100% physically ready, I would no longer be 100% mentally ready. If I’m scared now, I can only imagine what any more time tucked in the safety of suburbia would do for me.
So, I’m going.
No if’s, and’s or but’s – I’m going. I love you, Mom. I respect your opinion, Brother. I’ll miss you, Grams and Papa. Thank you, Everyone. I’m going.
