I’m between lives right now.
I packed almost a week ago, and am now just sitting in a tumulus sea of suitcases and piles of clothes and stacks of books and floating papers. I don’t even want to be at my house anymore, because it just seems like a place.
And yet I’m kind of nervous about the apartment I haven’t seen yet in Beijing. Things just so randomly worked out well last time – and have so far this time too. I’m hoping they will; I’ve worked hard organizing, but had so many almost-setbacks, and small (to medium-sized) disappointments along the way.
I’m realizing that I will miss the community here. It seems like I’ve been too busy this past year to fully enjoy and appreciate it. I will leave college with a good half the things I planned left undone, even senior year mostly unlived. It just seems we never had time, or time was never there – and now it’s past. So I will leave half-satisfied.
Back to Portland, sleep deprived. (Forty-plus hours of travel between Friday 1pm China-time to Sunday 9am Standard Pacific)
Getting used to life here; missing all the little things. And a long, full four months ahead.
By the time I head back to Beijing it will be hot and smoggy, and I will have again skipped an entire season.
I’ve been wanting to write for two months now, but all my life is occupied by things I must do first.
And I think I have to wait a few months yet to clear my head and write – actually have undivided time.