Monday, May 09, 2005


In moments of lucidity, I am coming to accept - and to anticipate - everything that lies ahead this year. Tonight, however, I'm exhausted from two straight weeks of packing and one full day of moving. Thus, I'm not feeling clear-headed, and all I want to do is run.

Driving back from moving, I watched the muted colors of night blend into each other; fields became dappled black blankets and roadside trees glowed the color of streetlights. I suddenly fought the urge to kick open the passenger door and scrabble to the ground, then run like hell across grass or gravel or whatever happened to be underfoot, just as long as I could melt into the evening and become one more indiscernable piece of the dusky landscape. If I could hide away for awhile, nothing would find me and I wouldn't have to confront what's coming. If I could just run fast enough, maybe I could stay ahead of the future and keep the present at bay.

I realize life doesn't work like that, and I know that running wouldn't really get me that far. But that doesn't stop me from balking when I get tired; I start wishing that I could just resist the current's pull until I felt like being reeled in. It's funny - one of the things I'm trying to work on right now, stereotypically mediocre Catholic that I am, is learning to accept the path I'm on, even when it doesn't seem like a perfect fit. Somehow, I'm supposed to be able to trust in my direction although it feels unreliable. In the past month, I've discovered I'm really terrible at doing this. I fight and fight until I'm beaten down, but I still refuse to stop flailing with both fists. Hopefully, my time abroad will bring me some much-needed maturity in this area - and tomorrow, when I've slept, I know I won't feel the same sense of fear. Tonight, however, I just want to burst out of the car and run, until there's nothing left to catch me.

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