It’s like this. I bought a car in 2012. I’ll pay it off next
year. But for it to be a financially wise decision and not an economic sinkhole,
I should keep it for ten or twelve years until it breaks down irreparably. Then
it will show itself to be a wise investment. (Other financially wise moves
involve putting more money into my IRA, paying off my student loan debt in
double increments, and getting a roommate to lower living expenses: all much
easier said than done.) But all of these financially wise decisions seem to
hinge on one thing: me staying in the United States. And that thought, frankly,
terrifies me.
It’s not that I’m planning on moving out of the country in
the next few months. But I’d like to have the option, the ability, if
the desire ever arose. It was doable – albeit difficult – to say goodbye, pack
my things away and move to Japan back in 2010. Could I do it again? Argentina,
Chile, Mexico, England, Canada, the UAE . . . is life long enough to live everywhere I want to?
But things are good here in Raleigh, so very, very good. I’ve got my
feet on Carolina soil again. I can support myself and pay for my beautiful,
colorful apartment that holds all of my worldly possessions. I can visit the majority
of my relatives at the drop of a hat. And I’ve got an amazing set of friends
stretching all across the state who have proven themselves a loyal, supportive,
understanding bunch. Why would I want to be anywhere else?
At the same time, I remember a conversation I had with my
sister a few days after returning from Japan in 2012. “What if you moved to Raleigh and
stayed there for the rest of your life?” she asked me. “What if you settled
down there and never left?” Without even letting her finish her question, I shook my head vehemently: “Never,
never, never! I could never stay in the same place for too long!” I wonder if it was really Raleigh itself that scared me, or the thought of staying in one place permanently. I think it's the latter.
Perhaps other people in my generation are going through the same thing. We
are quite content in the present, but afraid to commit ourselves to any one thing. We switch jobs every few years, we move across the country, we escape into graduate school. No longer is a house with a 30-year mortgage and a lifetime career at the same organization a blessing. No, permanence seems to petrify us. So we race around looking for the next best thing, thinking frantically, "Is this it? What else is there?"
Last weekend I went to my hometown (Littleton, NC) and enjoyed the time in the country, drinking a morning cup of coffee on the wide front porch, watching the sun go down over the lake, seeing the stars come out with no streetlights to dim their glow. But would I go back to it . . . forever?
I feel sometimes that I want mutually exclusive things. I want this:
And this:
This:
And this:
This:
And this:
What do they say, don't worry about the future; enjoy the present? All we have is now?
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