I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
This is a strange season of life. I'm trying to think of it as an exciting time - a pivotal moment, an ushering into adulthood. But, each day I feel the empty pang of stagnation. I tell myself not to get too antsy. "This is good. This is a lesson in learning how to be still. Of learning to be in one place," I say to my restlessness. But, to no avail. I steal a wistful glance at the Louisville airport as I drive to work, imagining all the places I could go (were money not an issue). How liberating it would be to hop on a plane, to find myself once again in a place new and foreign with only my wits and horrible sense of direction to guide me. Mostly, though, I think of Thailand.
As I drove home tonight, I found myself thinking of a conversation I had with P'Dam a couple of years ago. I had just finished an English lesson and art project with a group of Burmese Shan kids with the theme, "What's your biggest dream?" Nong Pet wanted to go to the moon. Muay wanted to be a nurse, so that she could help sick people. Some wanted to be teachers. Touched by their answers, I decided to ask P'Dam the same question as we sat across from each other under the fluorescent light of her outdoor kitchen. "To have lots of money!" she replied, laughing. "Money, money, money!" she repeated the familiar English word over and over. Later that evening, I asked her the same question, but in Thai. My curiosity had gotten the best of me, and I genuinely wanted to know. "It can be anything," I said. She thought for a moment before answering, "I don't have any more dreams." She went on to explain that she is grown now, and has made what she could out of her life. At first, this made me sad. No one is too old to have dreams! I realize now that there was wisdom behind her answer. What I viewed as sad resignation in her tone was perhaps something more like a matter-of-fact contentedness. Maybe P'Dam didn't have anymore dreams because she was too busy living the life set out in front of her.
In the past, I would have had an answer for the question I asked P'Dam. But, now I feel like I too am standing in front of a sprawling green fig tree, starving. I have no set plan for what comes next. There are endless options - so many figs! The world lies at my feet. This should be liberating. And perhaps it would be, if I knew what I wanted. Instead of feeling free, I feel immensely restricted. I have no money. Job searching is tedious and each refusal is like a punch in the gut. Loans hang over my head like an ominous cloud. Other demons chase my thoughts and surface in my dreams. I look at my friends. Many of them are married and have started their careers. They buy things like silverware and cutting boards, and have daily routines. What is it like, to be settled?
These days, I'm trying to take life one step at a time. I'm starved for wisdom. Part of me longs for some omen to fall down from the sky -- a fig to fall upon my head -- to tell me what move I should make next. Where should I go? What should I do? Where should I grow my roots? I think of all the wonderful mentors I've had throughout the years, and I wonder what they would say to me now. The thinking part of me knows that no place is better than another, and that no time is better than now. All we have is right here, in this moment. We can choose to live the life that we are in, or we can spend our days dreaming of other figs. Our path appears before us bit by bit with each step. The beauty of life is in its uncertainty, I'm sure. There is no sense in worrying over the future. So, dear interviewer, I cannot tell you where I see myself in five years. That part of my path has yet to materialize. All I can tell you is that I am here now, trying to be content with stillness, patient with my ever-questioning, ever-restless soul.
I look up at the fig tree and, though I am hungry and uncertain, I close my eyes, turn around, and walk away. I have a life to live.
No comments:
Post a Comment