Confusion Part Two: the Future
There was a time not so long ago when I didn’t factor in the future at all, didn’t think it existed for me. Thought I would be on my merry little way by then, burnt scattered on the ground or food for worms. But then it turned out that there was a possibility of a future and so now I have to figure out what to do with it if it does come.
There’s the sensible option, the standard option, the safe option and the scary option. Sensible, standard, safe, scary. I go between one and another on a minute-by-minute basis.
Sensible would be to go back to the UK. Find work and find help. Accept that this is not going away this time and keep on trying to find a way to change things. The UK is the familiar option, the safe option in so many ways and yet the least safe in others.
Standard would be to move on yet again. Another teaching job somewhere new. Start again. Keep running. Hope to one day leave myself behind.
Safe is to stay here. Keep doing what I’ve been doing. Same school, same flat, same TV every evening, same weekends in bed, eating the same, drinking the same, trust in familiarity to bring me around even though it hasn’t so far.
Scary is totally new. New places, new people, new challenges, new jobs, new languages, keep moving, keep running, escape on the horizon.
And scary is the one I’m drawn to, maybe because that little sliver of the old me that remains was always drawn to newness, always moved with one eye on the horizon. But I’m also romanticising because new might mean a new outlook, new friends, company and companionship at last but there’s no reason to think that this will be true because if there’s one thing I know from all the years of running, it’s that you can’t change yourself. At most, this longed for company will be temporary before I’m sussed out and left behind. And these days with the madness so close to the surface, bubbling away, ready to erupt, I can’t even count on temporary.
So I pretend I’ve made my mind up. And I change it again and pretend this time it’s definite. And then again. And I can’t even tell my boss that I don’t want to continue in a job I hate, a job that reduces me to panic and inadequacy, because I can’t make any kind of decision at all. So the four choices go round and round with all the other thoughts and I’m no closer to a decision. Confusion reigns omnipotent and one wrong choice could be the end.