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Sunday, March 27, 2016

Twiterpated




A surprised dinner invite leads to some lovely egg free cookies, mediocre salad and a boy. A local boy. And suddenly it’s an evening where silly comments and sassy remarks lead into interesting travel dialogue. I find myself being more engaged in conversations about bungee jumping and Europe, where I’m asking questions like darts, throwing one after another, after another. Our common ground grows from movie references to lifestyles and suddenly he’s making fun of himself and his single status, gallantly opening up the floor and telling me to go on, go ahead and make the exchange.

But I don’t. I hug the girls goodbye, wave at this dreamy character and drive away, because on my laptop, I’ve three job postings in New Brunswick that I would quite simply be perfect for once my contract ends. These jobs aren’t necessarily intrinsically rewarding, but they relate to my degree, the qualifications are those that I hold, and they will certainly pay the bills. If the position can’t provide me with feelings that I’m contributing to society in some way or another, at least it can be in a location where I’ve always wanted to live. 

I guess the question that’s been circling in my mind is that if I get a position that matches my end date at my current job, do I put off traveling for yet another year to live where I’ve always wanted to live? I’m financially set to travel (finally!), which I can always set aside, as I’ve done before and I know with my current single status I could leave the East Coast at any time, with few ties and seize the opportunities of foreign culture, love and cuisine.  

I’ve also full circled, which rarely happens in my gypsy way of life. My routine has become noticeably standard at times quite blasé, it feels as though the loose dirt has become quite packed in. So these are the ideas that I’ve been tossing around for potential one-year-plans seeing as my contract is coming up rather quickly. I’ve packed up my big bad duffle bag and sorted through my clothing empire and determined what will be needed for the next six months of living. Six Months, I keep telling myself. Six months, which will go by quickly, with training for a run and planning for some travels.

So hug the girls goodbye and drive away, without an exchange of numbers because I need a sign. This dreamy character wasn’t included in my six months nor my one-year-plan, because what happens when I invite this boy into my life and he changes my plans? What if I don’t want to go to Asia after all? I suppose I need more than a number; I need a sign. And yet, that dinner was the first time in a long time that I’ve had such easy, interesting conversation and the first time ever that I’ve experienced such being so twiterpated. 

-K

Because if you want to fly you have to give up everything that holds you down.

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