Not because of an inability to wake up on time, believe it or not. I've been up early every day at the new
apartment, with enough time to get ready for the day, eat a small breakfast,
check the weather outside, and get to work almost 30 minutes ahead of most of
the building.
And it’s not because of an inability to get decent rest, believe it or
not. The bed in the new apartment might
be a bit lower to the floor than I’d like (no thanks to Ikea for not having any
bed risers), but I've actually managed to get in a good amount of reading in
the evenings, fall asleep at decent times, and feel rested in the morning.
Nor is it because of an inability to get work done before noon, believe
it or not. I've had better success
coming into the office earlier than most, doing research, mapping out how my
project is going to proceed, and get really good feedback from the senior staff
and management who are supervising me.
It’s because of the cold hard reality that in the morning I’m
alone.
Everybody I've talked to and shared with back in the States has been
incredible. As I've written before, as
unfortunate and uncomfortable and unforgiving as my trials have been of late,
they have brought into sharp focus just how invaluable the people and the
connections we have in life truly are. I
can’t begin to express sufficient gratitude for everybody in a space like this
so I’ll have to leave it at that so as to not offend anybody.
And those friends and family have been strong supporters of my
individual strength and resilience; a kind of “I can do anything I set my mind
to” mentality that I used to have and has been missing for quite some
time. That’s part of what this trip is
about: it isn't the same as living in the wild for six months or anything that
drastic, but it’s an affirmation that I can handle whatever life throws at me
and come out alright in the end by not just “making do” here but really
thriving and succeeding.
So then why do the mornings feel so isolated?
Because the dreams – or nightmares – of the previous night are still
fresh. Because all of the resources and
support that has been behind me is asleep.
And because of this feeling that no matter what happens there’s this
voice that says it clearly: “You Are Alone.”
Sharing is caring, or so people say.
Well, some developments have occurred that I don’t care to share at the
moment. I’m not trying to slip back into
the old habits of isolation or exclusion; I just know that I’m still processing
things at the moment. And if that’s
still happening inside then how can I possibly hope to share what’s going on
and get feedback or make any kind of coherent sense on the outside? It’s like trying to get up to top speed in a
vehicle, but always needing to swerve or stop or go in reverse for a bit to
stay on course. I know I’m on course – I
can feel it. I’m moving forward and
doing everything I can to embrace this new city, this new challenge, and this
time to myself. But there is a kind of
feeling of powerlessness that’s riding shotgun with me, and I can’t really
shake it. As in, I’m moving forward and
I’m pushing in the right direction for all of the right reasons … but what lies
at the destination? Or, is the course
going to change and fall apart no matter what I do?
All metaphorical crap aside, I’m really doing alright. Work is good, apartment is good, friends are
good, city is good. I just don’t know
how to say the things I’m not allowed to say to the people I can’t say them to,
while dealing with the reality of images and thoughts I don’t want to face, and
simultaneously figuring out the actions I want to take with the people I don’t
want to take them with for the reasons I feel strongly about.
Other than that, it’s just another typical Viennese morning.
