Destination Unknown

I stretch, I move, I fidget.

I can't stand being still.

I find waiting in line irksome and feel wrath toward the notion of stationary bikes. On a clear summer day, I will gladly choose running outside over keeping my pace with a sterile treadmill in an air-conditioned gym. I like to believe I am not just a thinker, but a doer. I refuse to watch the world pass by as my body melds into the cushions of the living room sofa. I will forever be adamant against adhering to strict rules. And why do I say all this? Because… I have already diagnosed my own prognosis. I have a fear of confinement; a fear of being boxed in, trapped. I don't like to be still.

I remember returning home after my 34-day adventure in Israel, the summer of 98. I was 16. It had been my first trip traveling beyond the boundaries of the United States. Of course, I was happy to be reunited with my parents and relieved for the safe journey home, but I cannot deny the rising level of frustration within me; the sense of a harsh reality clouding my fantasy. After a summer of constant motion, exotic sights and encounters with new friends and travelers, the thought of once again returning to the confines of my old room and the mundane routine of school was exasperating. To have experienced such rich and vivid sensation and watch it all fade away filled me with an utmost sadness.

Looking back, I am pretty sure that this trip symbolized a turning point for me and my vision of the world beyond my bedroom window. As someone who had trouble picturing people and places past the sky scrapers of Manhattan, I came home with a wet palate, a glorious slideshow of images and an enormous appetite to see more.

Abstractions aside, I feel like a jittery bride with a bad case of cold feet. I start graduate school on Tuesday. As in this Tuesday. As in five days from now. I am enrolled in a full-time two-year masters program. And from the information I have gathered, my lax part-time schedule life is about to disappear and be replaced with a much more rigorous schedule. At the moment, I feel confident in the decision I made to further my education and head down the graduate school path. However, the part of me that craves the aforementioned movement, vibrancy and change is suddenly gnawing away inside my head...in spurts. I pick up a book and I am immediately consumed with all out jealously toward the protagonist who is traveling to a distant country to embark on his studies. I envy the troupe of actors touring the country in a run down truck making stops in every town and village to perform for children under the shelter of a tent and pole. And I endlessly admire those who can cram their entire world into a U-haul and head cross country in search of the missing pieces of their life puzzle as they coast along day by day-new jobs, new loves, new experiences.

That being said, I can't say I am overwhelmingly ecstatic about the notion of spending the next two years holed up in the university library as other peers book plane trips all over the map. Why do I still feel the urge to jump on the back of the next train...destination unknown? When do these jitters stop? When do I stop questioning, stop wanting, stop wondering?

When will I learn how to be still without feeling stuck?

I'll have to get back to you on that one.