In a way, I've always been a runner in the sense that I when adrenaline ushers me into a choice between "fight" or "flight" 99.9997% of the time I select "flight." While few people freely admit to liking confrontation or facing challenges, I'm probably one of the more obviously avoidant people you're likely to meet. My ridiculous behaviors include letting voicemails collect virtual dust for days in my phone if I fear the message contains information I don't want to hear. When an email having what I perceive as an ominous subject line arrives in my inbox, I pass it off to a friend to read first. And when I used to have papers, I skimmed the prompts and then ignored them until the day before the assignment was due if I didn't know what to write about. One may think that while these reactions to adult-situations aren't uncommon they demonstrate immaturity; proof that deep down I'm still just a childish brat dodging responsibility. But even when I was younger this penchant for running as a default response was present. Whenever an altercation seemed imminent among the neighborhood boys I spent my afternoons and summers with, I would take off into the woods behind our houses or race into a strip of backyards. Abandoning coats, half-finished games, and friends, I would disappear, sometimes crawling behind a bush or nestling myself into a tree just to prolong the inevitable as long as possible. And while these disappearing acts never solved anything or proved especially helpful, I remained comforted in knowing that at any given moment I could take off and temporarily escape problematic situations with relative ease. So I guess it shouldn't surprise most people when I say I've been plotting to take off to the west coast since I was in middle school. At first, I thought college would be my ticket out, but after being accepted into NYU (a school my guidance counselor had assured me was a 'complete reach' and 'unrealistic') I found myself on an island only two states away from my home. And while New York has proven an invaluable catalyst for my growth and maturity, the call of California still remains an ever-present whisper in the back of my mind, an abstract idea I've always wanted to mould into a tangible reality. As college came to its conclusion, I made a pact to myself that I would remain in New York only until the end of August, and if I found nothing promising, I'd pack up and head west. The promise became a kind of test I gave myself, a way to determine if I was strong enough to fulfill my dreams. Could I withstand the discomfort of uprooting myself during an already turbulent period of transition? Was I capable of surviving a cross-country move while simultaneously making a name for myself in a whole new setting? If I was met with initial resistance and difficulty, would I crumble under the pressure and independence? Questions like these began inducing semi-panicked bouts of emotional vertigo. I was dizzy with this daunting task I had arranged for myself. And at first, every time this gut-wrenching feeling overtook me, I attempted to outrun it. Telling myself, "You'll figure it out. It'll be fine. You have another month to deal with things." Well, taking on an internship, job, and setting aside time for creative writing, not to mention having some semblance of a social life has taken a toll on my summer. The first week of July is almost over, and I haven't had the time to find a permanent gig in New York. But on the other hand, I also haven't had time to properly research the logistics of moving out west. I'm starting to realize the idea of California is probably more appealing to me than the actual location. The notion of a seven hour flight separating me from everything I've ever known for the past 22 years of life entices me. New people, new terrain, new job opportunities are things I imagine I'd experience out west. But now that school is done, I have an opportunity to start over in NYC, too. With academic obligations a thing of the past finding a job and peddling my stories for publication are now the recurring theme in my daily life. And it's a change that may be able to hold me over until I can really figure out what I want to do in my upcoming years. I suppose, in a roundabout way, this post is my way of telling myself it's okay to wait another year. To give myself another chance to test the waters and limitations of post-college life. Signing a lease for another year in the city isn't a tragedy, it's a willingness to admit that maybe right now, running isn't the best option for me. Though I still have a week or two to make a final decision, I think right now I'm leaning toward "fight" rather than (7-hour) "flight." --AKA
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
kianamaiart
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
prguitarman
amandla
discoholicmusic