Anxiety and excitement swirl into a single, murky color, like a tie-dyed T-shirt gone wrong. I am anxious for my hematology followup tomorrow, excited to go to law school, anxious awaiting application decisions, excited to (potentially) be done with doctor’s visits. I let the colors and emotions bleed together.
Balance exists in rare clarity these days, a year teetering between prolonged lows and punctuating highs. Months of agonizing, tedious illness, fueled by uncertainty and specialists. I took the LSAT. Six weeks of iron IVs, hospital bracelets and dizzy walks from the infusion room. I applied to law school.
Departure and dichotomy are real when they exist on the page, when they cease to rattle solely in my mind, only to fade away when it’s all too much. I often write to remind myself of what’s real. I’m going to law school. I’m moving away.
The other day while catching up on a Twitter friend’s blog (thanks to Lola Arellano-Fryer for the always-awesome “Found in Philadelphia”), I came across a quote from her that captured my feelings: “Leave the city when it stops taking your breath away.” Des Moines is comfortable and familiar, the kind of place in which I simply make sense, one that leaves me with little to sort out after more than five years here. I’m happy here, but I’m restless.
I am aggressive in seeking challenges, in seldom sitting still, in avoiding the comfort that lurks in staying anywhere for a little too long. My law school applications will all be submitted by this weekend. I usually say, “It’s time,” in response to, “Oh, you’re leaving?” Abandoning the proverbial “real world” to become a full-time student is scary; leaving Des Moines is scarier, maybe.
This is probably one of those stories about leaving your comfort zone. Or it will be, anyway. But for now, I like to think of it as bringing out new colors in the tie-dye, colors that swirl and swoop in unexpected ways.