No Turning Back

Today I worked really hard. I woke up early, walked Loulou, and worked with digging, shoveling, and raking soil for hours until my hands had blisters that will soon turn into callouses I can pass off as rowing callouses (as a friend of mine informed me). I worked until I was hungry enough to eat, and then wrote a bit in the afternoon, leaving time to walk to town to mail a few letters and then wait for the arrival of Ruby and her boyfriend. Ruby worked for Zaza two years ago and came back to visit once for a week and is now here visiting with her boyfriend from London. In the evening I took her to the goat farm where we saw Samuel milk the goats and then make cheese, a process which was so simple, lovely, and where each goat was treated like their pet dogs. And then we walked back home, where we had fresh goat cheese to eat with bread and wine and veggies cooked by Tanya in the wok.

I had a really lovely conversation this evening with Tanya, sitting at the dinner table, drinking wine. She asked me if I wanted to learn any other languages, and naturally my answer was yes. Languages make me want to travel but travelling only fuels the desire to learn even more languages, to communicate with even more communities abroad and in other places with other cultures. And then she looked at me and told me about her education, her three degrees, her life teaching young Russian children how to read and write, and how she was sure I would have a good future. She said she saw in me a great path ahead because she could tell I had plans and that I wanted to do things. It sounds like a cliché but I had no idea how much I needed to hear that. In the past few days I have been more than a little stuck with writing, and thinking, and thinking about what to write and if this was ever going to get easier or work out. With my final college year coming up, I have been becoming both excitd and anxious at the prospect of going out and realizing I may love doing this but the crapshoot of it and my abilities might not take me far enough, that, in simpler terms, I won’t make it. And in talking about “it” that I don’t even know what that actually is.

Watching Samuel tend to the goats, he said he had been working with the goats for 37 years, his entire life. How quickly a life goes by, and how possible it is to stay in one place for so long and be content, or not be? I’m not sure what I want anymore, and what the trajectory after school will be. Travelling is an escape, and also a destination, and neither seem right at the moment. These days I no longer know whether to say I study theatre, that I do theatre, or that I am a writer or an actor. Am I real enough to say I am doing it or child enough to say I have not embarked on the path to do it yet? It feels like limbo, in a way I am not entirely comfortable with and am not sure I want to settle down in.

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