A Life

And time keeps marching on. It tugs me along with it, whether I like it or not, but toward what I'm not sure. Maybe I'm just not meant to be content with stagnation. Mediocrity. Life will not allow me to sit back and be a barista forever. (Life? What is this life?) For the first time in perhaps ever I feel like I absolutely control my future. It can be what I want it to be because I have the power and the faith to realize it. This is nearly one of the only decisions about the course of my life that I've made on my own. I don't regret the path I've taken here (centering around educational choices which perhaps shape my future more than most anything else) because I've learned from it and gained tools to change for the better. But to think that my future is in my hands (my hands) right now. I look at my two hands. I get to decide. And if I fail it's okay because it happens. I'm not overly preoccupied with "failing" because that's opportunities for knowledge experience learning.

It's absolutely exciting while being occasionally overwhelming. My breath catches as I consider possibilities about the future. Short term. Long term. Ever. I yearn for the happiness I see in my future. (Future, what is this future?) I have time. I believe I could be satisfied, content in the appropriate job and I believe that I can find it.

I've taken significant steps toward taking the GRE. I've taken a practice test to establish my preparatory needs, begun to study a prep book, registered for the test. July 7th. I'm not in a real hurry to begin any more higher education. If I don't do well, I have time. But I think I will do well enough (practice test and “word of the day” examples indicate yes).

I have made moderate progress toward finding a volunteer position as part of a literacy program. I hated teaching (“teaching”) English to indifferent Spanish adolescents. I want to help willing students of any age to understand my language so that they can communicate effectively in the dominant language of this country.

This wanders, wanders. I've been told to stop apologizing so frequently. I'm not sorry that this rambles along in muddled thoughts with barely intelligible transitions. We'll see how I like it tomorrow.



P.S. Nearly all the postcards I sent during my third(ish) week in Costa Rica from San Isidro are finally reaching their destinations. I knew it would happen; incredibly, it took four months and they're arriving about simultaneously. Why?