God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
This prayer is commonly used by alcoholics in recovery, but its message is applicable to anyone who is at some kind of a crossroads in his or her life, even someone like me who doesn't really believe in God. Lately, I have found myself reciting some form of this prayer in my head, addressing the universe in general rather than any particular god, to help me cope with the state of limbo in which I find myself at this point in my life.
Most people who know me know that I have found it challenging, to say the least, to live where I currently do. In fact, in the past 6 years, I have experienced feelings similar to the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I started out thinking living here would be a very temporary situation; once year 1 went by and it seemed we weren't going anywhere anytime soon (thanks, recession), I became angry. I became aware that I was spending my 20s, the supposed self-exploratory prime of one's life, in a place that did not exactly foster self-exploration. There were a lot of fights between Israel and me, and some resentment on my part. This was soon followed by my scheming and budget planning and proposals to Israel in efforts to convince the both of us that there was really nothing stopping us from picking up and leaving. Israel's stubborn (and practical...and responsible) refusals of my propositions sent me into the next phase: depression. And yes, I was genuinely depressed for a period of time- I felt friendless, hopeless, and my main source of joy was eating chicken chile verde with sour cream on a large bed of white rice. Luckily, a combination of emotional maturation a new sense of career direction pulled me out of this and showed me a light at the end of the tunnel, pushing me along to the final phase: acceptance.
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| Feeling most like myself: Coffee in hand, wandering downtown LA waiting for a live performance of Waiting For Godot to begin. |
Before anyone thinks that I am loosely applying a concept meant to address real loss to my own first-world problem, I'll just tell you, you're right. And to those that have experienced real loss, please don't think that I am minimizing your experiences by comparing them to my own. That being said, I was grieving a loss, not of someone, but something: my expectations for my twenties. And before my family members and friends who have faced greater adversity than I have, who didn't have luxury of envisioning a carefree decade of personal and professional growth, roll their eyes and dismiss me as a spoiled brat, reserve your judgments and keep in mind that the only experiences we know are our own, and in my experience, I was on the path to spend my 20s eating, drinking, and museum-hopping in a major city- the small town girl who got out of the small town and never looked back. When the slow realization came that this would not happen, it was devastating to my sense of identity.
As I said before, maturity and a renewed sense of direction led to my eventual acceptance of my current geographic location. Beginning my studies in speech-language pathology not only introduced to me a career that was challenging and stimulating enough without being completely intimidating, but the high-demand and comfortable salary gave me hope that we would someday be able to live where we wanted. On top of that, as I entered my later 20s, I became able to appreciate the solid and loving relationship that Israel and I had developed during our time living here. And I have yet to mention the renewed bond with members of my extended family who live here; going to family parties, watching the children of my brother and my cousin's grow up, being in the comforting presence of people who understand my crazy family because they are my crazy family, are all priceless gifts that I would never have received had I been distracted by the glamour of a big city. For these reasons, I have decided to not regret my time living here; it has grounded me and connected me to the things that are real and unchanging in life, family and love.
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| My family really is pretty great... |
There is no regret, but I am still the same person I was when I first moved here 6 years ago, the same person I was at the age of 17 when I decided to go away to San Diego for college, the same person I was who never really fit into the small town my mother decided to raise me in. And that person, me- I long to be in a different environment. There is a part of me that comes alive when I am in the city, and not just when I am doing fun things on Saturdays, but when I am in class with some of the most intelligent women I've ever met, when I am observing at rehabilitation facilities with talented professionals who are applying the concepts and methods that my eager mind is absorbing in school, even when I am stuck in traffic on the 101 freeway at 1pm on a weekday, listening to KCRW. I've lived in a city and in a small town, and I know which I prefer.
As I enter the final year of my studies, the light at the end of the tunnel is becoming larger and larger, and I am getting closer and closer to having greater control over my circumstances. In the meantime, though, my situation remains the same, and there is much that is out of my control. My acceptance of this situation is precarious, though, as I find myself alternating between and simultaneously experiencing those old feelings of grief: denial that we have to wait another year to move, anger that there is nothing we can do about it right now, bargaining with the same old budget proposals that could buy us an early move, depression about my inability to jump forward a year, and, in my most mature and well-rested moments, acceptance that this year will be spent living in the same situation as the previous 6. But this time there is hope. There is a timeline in place and, in the grand scheme of life, it is a relatively short timeline at that. So that is where the serenity prayer comes in. Israel and I are doing everything in our power to ensure that a move happens within our expected timeline. Those things that are not in our power, we need to serenely accept to avoid undue stress and unhappiness. It's when I can't tell the difference between the two that I get myself into trouble. So, I say again:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
