What I'm Excited To Do When I Get Home
As a child, I was told that you only have the chance to live each day once, so make the most of it. This statement was intended to inspire and motivate me and the rest of the group of small school children who were gathered around. The goal was to push us outside of our comfort zones, to have us take risks, raise our hands to answer questions, try new things, make new friends, and do all of those very important tasks for children in the process of learning and growing. However, this message embedded itself in my brain in a *slightly* different way, and I think about the fact that each day can occur only once in our lives way more often than I’m sure whoever shared that information with me would have intended.
For my young perfectionist mind, this revelation instilled a great fear of regret and ruining things, knowing that there will be no do-overs. But more than that, it served as a catalyst for feeling a deep sense of melancholy when things naturally come to an end.
Even those of you who have known me for a while might not realize my true sentimental nature. I can recall a moment, at the ripe old age of 6 and a half, when I was playing with my best friend at the time on the playset in her backyard. We had been friends since preschool, often going over to each other's houses for playdates or out for activities on the weekends with each other's families. On this particular afternoon, we stood side by side at the opening for the monkey bars at the top of the play gym. Musings of extremely contemplative kindergarten students led us to deeply discuss the quick passage of time. We waxed on about memories on the rickety structure a few years prior when we could not yet reach the first monkey bar and had to go high on tippy-toes or lift each other off the platform to start our journey across. We reflected on how much we had grown and changed over our friendship and imagined a time when we would be too old and too big to spend our afternoons playing in the backyard.
What a strange conversation between two girls who had yet to master addition and subtraction tables. We both wiped little tears from our eyes, before rushing inside when told that our lunch of Capri Sun juice pouches and grilled cheese sandwiches were ready.
Today, those hang-ups are still unconventional. I’ve learned to cope more with bigger changes and having to say goodbye when entering new stages of life. I’m not saying that these things are always easy, but they are more expected. But those feelings of longing remain with the reminder that after each moment passes, it is sealed in history only to be looked on as a memory, but never re-lived. For example, although fictional, it always feels more challenging than expected when I reach the end of a TV show series. Thinking of my decade-plus run as a softball “superstar” brings a longing for bathing in sticky sunscreen under hot heat, the sweet taste of Gatorade, and being surrounded by laughter from close friends with whom I am no longer in contact. I have no desire at the moment to grab my mitt and head out to second base, but I would love for a chance to reinsert myself into those long summer nights.
And sunsets. I have always found so much beauty and grief in sunsets.
I know that after this year is over, there are going to be so, so many things that I will think back on and feel a similar type of melancholy. A bittersweetness—gratitude for the opportunities and experiences and sorrow for what I left behind. These feelings have already arisen when sharing with others about my time in countries and with people I encountered earlier on in my itinerary.
Today, the next batch of Watson Fellows was announced. It felt strange to log onto the site and see another list of names at the top of fellows, where mine sat for an entire year. I remember the interesting mix of excitement and fear that came along with seeing myself up on the website. It was real and not. Even having been away for 232 days now, it doesn't feel real at times. I would not be surprised to be told that this has all been made up. Some sort of hyper-vivid dream state that I've been living in.
March 15, 2022, when I was announced as a Watson Fellow, I was not at home either. I suppose in some way it feels like apt preparation on a small level for this year abroad. I found out about the news while working a shift as a child life practicum student at Connecticut Children's Medical Center in the hem/onc outpatient clinic. When the press release was posted, I was in a patient's room playing an intense game of Uno following a more intense chemo port access. My dad saw it first and texted me a link. I snuck out my phone when I was out of the room since I saw the notification and had a quiet smile to myself. I didn't tell people on my team for several hours. I was excited, for sure. But also scared and worried about my ability to follow through with the plans that I made.
And now, as I write this, I have every flight for the rest of my year booked except for the one to bring me home.
It feels bizarre to say, but it is like I'm experiencing emotional déjà vu from this day last year. I am excited to go home but scared. I have had so many opportunities and experiences and I'm worried about how I will be able to integrate back into my old life. How will I use my title as a Watson Fellow for good? How can I follow through on my plans and goals, made what feels like an eternity ago, to encourage global betterment of end-of-life and bereavement care for families whose child died? I think just as I have navigated and negotiated this year, I will be able to do the same with these concerns regarding my life's short- and long-term future. But, nevertheless, those worries of "How will I manage?" still remain.
So, lately, I’ve been trying to think about what I am looking forward to when I get home. To provide a balance. A reminder that the statement I took to heart as a child was intended to encourage living in the present and taking advantage of each moment. It may seem counterintuitive to be thinking of the future in order to live in the present … What can I say? I’m a planner.
So here is a list of things that I am excited about and looking forward to upon my return home, both in the short- and long term.
Getting back into my hobbies
Sharing what I have learned (recipes, insights, photos)
Finding a new routine
Discovering a style that suits me and what I actually feel called to wear
Being in the same or similar time zones as friends and family
Seeing familiar people and places
Pushing myself to explore and get out to do new things back home
Getting rid of clutter
Finding peace in usual comforts
Seeing how I grow after this year and because of it
Taking time to relax, reflect, and process
Feeling settled and finding ways to continue to expand my own boundaries
In concrete terms, I am looking forward to not always being on the move so that I can have time and space to reconnect with old joys and find new ones. For example, I am really looking forward to creating ways to get back into traditional photography and photo editing, which I love. But I want to expand my activities too. I really want to try new forms of fitness—maybe taking weekly yoga classes or a dance class for adult beginners. And I have decided that I think I would be really skilled at sewing, without any prior experience, so I want to explore that when I get home too. These are things that will help me feel grounded again after my life-changing year away while giving time for my brain to be reflective.
There is so much that I want to do in the remainder of my time as a Watson Fellow. But I will have a whole life after I return too. Every ending brings about a new beginning. There is beauty and grief in that. But for now, I am going to focus on right now. Because I will never again have the chance to live this day. So I am going to make sure that by the time the sun sets, I can think about it without regret.
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