"I am not Lego", I said to my Mom, trying to express how it felt to move back to the US.
Spending close to 8 years, building a dream, living that dream, meticulously defining the coming decade of my life, and then suddenly uprooting myself, only to move back, has been a journey that I find hard to explain to anyone.
I constantly find myself in conflict as I am unable to want the things I wanted before.
Today, I came across some notes left in my handbag from August 2019. I traveled back to who I was at the time and what I wanted.
Looking back, I feel blessed and grateful for the life I had.
I was surrounded by excellent people and had access to amazing opportunities.
Yet, in my notes, I found a list of goals I hadn't accomplished. In my journals, I rarely showed an iota of gratitude to myself or to universe.
All those memories made me very emotional. I hugged that 3.5-year-old torn notepad. Apologizing to myself for being so harsh to myself.
Moving to Chicago has been yet another blessing, because it is allowing, in fact forcing, me to reflect on my previous years in the US. Not to say it hasn't been challenging.
The fact that I pride myself in being a traveler, doesn't mean I can fit in and out of places like a piece of Lego, at least not yet.
I still mourn letting go of a dream I built over several years.
Almost every day at least once, I wish I stayed the course. I wish I could be 28 again. I wish everything that happened didn't happen.
But then, I wonder, why do I think my life journey was supposed to follow certain milestones? When did it become written in stone? Why do I constantly feel "uprooted", or that I had any roots in the first place?
This perceived control over my life, my future, and my career, completely shook during lockdown.
But because of whatever happened, I know now that whatever I have now, wherever I am living, how much ever money I am making, and whoever I am spending time with, is the best thing that I can happen.
That I can't be or don't want to be either a rooted tree or a lifeless Lego. But perhaps something in between.
Everything I want is still coming my way. I just have to be brave enough to walk towards it.
Also I try to remind myself that everything can just as easily be taken away from me at any second.
Two years ago, I didn't want to leave everything I cherished but I did.
The next time, it may be my health, my work, my relationships, a global crisis, and a myriad other things completely out of my control.
Knowing this does not make it easy.
But it allows me to empathize with myself and be a little kinder to myself than I was when I was 28.
I am learning to not suffocate myself under the weight of things I should want or achieve, and be fluid.
And if I don't change, a decade from now, at 41, I would again find myself reflecting on my life, realizing life was indeed great and wishing I was grateful.
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