Off Track

The idea of getting back on track hung over my time in India like a low dark cloud, one that would surely be followed by a tornado. My mind wanted to go in the direction of fear and when I allowed it I could feel moisture and electricity waiting in my atmosphere like something bad was coming.

In not-so-quiet moments I pondered all of the things that would happen when I boarded a flight in New Delhi that would deliver me back across the Pacific to the life I had left or maybe ran from, six months earlier. Some good things would be sure to happen, like being reunited with my parents, my dog, and proper coffee shops, but some not good things were on my horizon.

I would be faced with the daunting task of getting back on track. I would look into the eyes of the surface-level friends and family members that believed I had made a horrible mistake by quitting and packing my life into bags and I would have to tell them I was officially unemployed and living in my parent's house.

At 24-years-old this is not the track I was told to expect for myself. I was told to graduate college with a utilitarian degree and not go for the major that made me feel excited because people like me don’t get those jobs. I was told to find an employer that matched what I paid into my 401k and stay with them for at least three years because anything less would signify to future employers that I have commitment issues.

I was told to make more money so I could have a better house and then tie all of that money up in sheetrock walls and a pretty lawn. I was told to find a boyfriend that I could marry and have kids with because that’s what security looks like.

This is the track I had been told to choose and anything less or different was dangerous and if I was different then I was dangerous to the ideas of the people I called friends and distant family.

But, I ask you which is more dangerous, identifying that the common track is not all that it’s cracked up to be or struggling to get out of bed in the morning because life doesn't feel good?

That’s heavy, I know. For me, conforming to a life that creates acid in my belly is more dangerous than snuggling up with a family of Bengal tigers. I do not trust myself when I mindlessly pursue someone else’s track and worry that the sadness I have laid down beside will destroy me.

I have always had a small inkling that I can choose to get off track and be with myself. I briefly declared the major that made me feel excited before I changed it, working to put all of my money into a life I didn’t want so I could continue to work more never set well with me, and I continued with my trip to India even though everyone (including myself) thought I was a little crazy.

Today I see that it is beautiful freedom to hold in my hands all of the options with which I can catapult myself off of the track I do not want. It is even more beautiful that I have realized my track does not have to involve sitting in an office building every day, coming home to a horribly average partner in a house that looks like every other house, and children I do not want.

I will not choose the track of sadness because that is for someone else and all of those things will bring joy to the right person but it’s just not for me.

I am still the child who did not understand the fun of sending brightly colored toy cars round and round on a circular track. I wanted to hold them in my hand and spin their wheels with my fingers, I wanted to send them rolling across hardwood floors to hear the sounds they mad, and I wanted to let them rest in window sills where their shiny paint sparkled.

I wanted all of these things for the tiny cars so I did them, and now, I will do the same thing for my life. I will not chase myself in perpetual circles to get more of the things I do not want. I will take myself off-track to see how I sparkle in the places I was led to believe I did not belong and I will rest there because that’s what you can do when you get off-track.