I Tend to Come Apart on Trains

I tend to come apart on trains.

There's something about the liminal space of them; that in-between, not quite anywhere feeling that nourishes my reflective (and overdramatic) side. Throw in a sunset or a rainstorm, or any kind of weather that feeds my ability to wander the full spectrum of my emotions; add my headphones and a Starbucks Christmas takeaway cup, and you've got the recipe for a dreamy, introverted girl's fall-apart-on-a-train kind of situation.

I'll read a book whose world overtakes mine, or blog posts that make my heart ache; I journal about how lost I feel and text friends the kind of unfiltered messages I would normally backspace. I listen to sad playlists that make me want to cry, and thank God that I'm still capable of feeling something, after another week that's left me numb. I huddle in corners of freezing cold stations, hands cradling that Christmassy cup, and I tell myself that this is romantic: the girl you see on movie screens, buried cute beneath woolly hat and scarf, about to face the world's challenges with fierce independence. I tell myself that this is exciting, that this is adventure.

But really, this is running away.

This is me doing what I do: disengaging with life, because life is hard and I don't want to take responsibility for it. This is half-committing to everything so I can turn away when I can't make things perfect. Running away to a different city for the weekend, the distraction of old friends pulling me back to that past world, so I can ignore this current one for a while.

I'm more inclined to flight than fight. My every instinct is retreat: away from social engagements that require more energy than I have; away from lending a helping hand that would cost me a little too much comfort; away from academic responsibility that both bores and frightens me. I withdraw. I run away, or I become hibernation girl, safely retreating to my room, “Gilmore Girls” on Netflix, "just to switch off for a bit." I'm concerned that I'm switching off too much. My habit of disengaging when life doesn't match up with “perfect” has trained my mind to flee so far from reality that any dreams I once held for the future have given up and gone to sleep.

I want to reengage.

Graduation is coming (with the minor issue of final year still standing in the way), and I've been blanking on the future. I want to be able to choose the path that will make life make sense, but I can't do that, and if it's not perfect then I don't want it and so I'll go back to “Gilmore Girls,” thanks.

When you've spent your whole life learning to flee the moment things become uncomfortable, it takes more than one well-intentioned day to rewire those systems. Reengaging is scary: it means taking responsibility again, facing up to the gaping hole that is post-graduation and thinking honestly and carefully about what I want to fill it with. It means allowing myself to accept a future that won't always be perfect, or free from boredom, uncertainty, or just hard times.

If I want to reclaim my future, I have to wake up to it.

On a good day, I'm so excited about the post-grad world opening up to me. I could do anything! I could go anywhere! I'm entitled to pursue any job that takes my fancy, or to take a year off. I could move across the world just for the heck of it. I could be applying to grad schemes or grad schools right now (which I'm totally not, but oh well). I could get a job at a coffee shop in the same city I live in now. I could move home, if I really wanted. I could become a hermit on a remote island and write poetry for the rest of my days. I could go big, or I could go small: it's all open to me! I'm lucky for that and I'm grateful. But I'm also in need of big shiny arrow to point out the right direction; what's the point in options if I can only choose one?!

I know this sounds ridiculous, like all subconscious thought processes do when you give them airspace. If I'm aiming for a future where I never doubt the choices I make, I know I'm likely to be let down. I want to trust myself more. To be brave enough to face up to the gaping hole, consider my options and trust myself to choose one. To think about what I want, what I'm good at and what I care about, and allow it to lead me to something. And then, commit. Not forever—but for a little while, and see what happens when I focus my energy into one thing that I believe to be good for me.

Maybe I'll commit to this little university town after I'm done studying, to see what else we have to offer each other. Commit to my church, my neighbours, my community; forgoing “adventure” in place of loyalty, sticking around and honouring this place that's seen me grow the last few years. Or maybe commitment means something a little scarier: choosing a dream and chasing it, across the country or across the world, and trusting it to be meaningful enough without constantly thinking of everything else I could be doing. Forget about the thousands of options for a little while, and focus on the one that ends up in front of me.

Chances are, I won't be perfect at whatever I end up doing after graduation. Life will still have its bad days, as much as that pains my idealist-brain to face up to, I have to accept it. But I hope I at least take the risk of being less-than-perfect, because the only alternative is not showing up at all. Wherever I end up, I hope I am engaged with that place.

So the next time I'm on a train, blanketed in knitwear against the cold, with that vanilla latte in hand, I won't think of it as running away. I will think of it as adventure.

I won't be perfect. But I'll be there.

sale

Windrose Magazine Issue 2

$5.00 $18.00

BUY 1, GET… AS MANY AS YOU WANT!

Windrose Magazine is your guide to navigating life in your twenties through a collection of essays, interviews, and advice that will inspire you to chart your own life course, free of comparison.

PLEASE NOTE: We can only ship within the United States. We still love our international friends, promise!

Magazine ships from our HQ within 7-10 business days of order. All sales final.

INVENTORY SALE: Buy 1 copy, get … as many as you want! Yes, really. We will contact you after purchase through the email you submit during the checkout process to confirm how many copies you would like.

Please note that orders of 10+ copies will incur additional shipping fees. Order limits are subject to remaining inventory count.

Quantity:

Add To Cart

Featured

The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

What is it Trying to Tell You, if Only You’d Listen?

I went on a date recently. Two glasses of Riesling, pleasant conversation, and a perfectly amicable guy — it was an altogether fine evening.

However, I wasn’t interested in a second date.

Not because of any run-for-the-hills red flags. Not because I didn’t think he was cute. Not because we didn’t get along. I simply — wasn’t interested.

There’s no better way to explain it. No fear-based avoidance of the potential for a healthy relationship. No disdain for commitment that needs a heavy round of therapy to work through. Nothing deeper than the inner sense that a second date just wasn’t necessary.

But, I said yes to getting dinner again with him.

The Other Side of Yes

I’m a No Girl.

In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m able to confidently decline invitations that disinterest me.

“Want to go whitewater rafting?” No thank you, I’m comfy right here on the bank.

“Want to do a shot?” No thank you, I’ll take my liquor with lime juice and Triple Sec, plz.

“Want to try this carrot cake?” No thank you, Harry, I can’t eat gluten.

“Want to go to Broadway?” No thank you, I’d prefer to go to bed.

In many ways, however, being a No Girl originates less from personal boundaries and more from fear. Fear and I happen to be pretty tight; we talk on the daily. Fear has been the primary consultant for many of my life decisions, in fact.

A Song for Growth

A year ago, a friend of mine got a job at a well known tech company. He had been slogging through the interviews, and he finally got an offer. Obviously he deserved it. He was a hard worker, and his attitude for success and life was admirable to say the least. I knew he was beyond qualified.

But at the time, I was on a career path I couldn’t see myself being happy in. I had made the mistake of staying in the industry mainly for the money. Every month in the industry was a reminder of how much I did not want to stay. It created a nasty cycle of overthinking and career angst. Feelings of inadequacy and existentialism rooted themselves deep inside me. I couldn’t focus on anything and was utterly disconnected from the work I was doing.

I admit I wasn’t happy for him.

Graduation, Dreams, Life, TravelIssy DaviesDecember 15, 2016FeaturedComment

I Tend to Come Apart on Trains

BUY 1, GET… AS MANY AS YOU WANT!

magazine Blog

Contact SUBMIT