Excitement: "What Does That Even Mean?"

"How are you feeling?” 

“You excited?”

These are the two most common questions I get from folks when asked about my next chapter. Recently, one of my friends asked me, "are you excited," and  I took a long pause and asked, "what does that even mean?" I’m sure this is something I probably need to unpack in therapy but I don't know if I've ever been excited about next chapters. What I assume excitement feels like is how eager I am in anticipation of the new Ari Lennox album or when I see these IG chefs curate exquisite looking bowls of ramen. I equate excitement with how free I feel when I catch a flight or get a new passport stamp or how I've felt witnessing my friends get married, have children, and celebrate milestones. I haven't reached the peak of what "excitement" seemingly looks and feels like in this chapter of life yet but I am extremely proud of myself and emotionally grateful. I am also leery of the unknown. 

Recently, I went to a friend's gathering and they were talking about being excited about the fall season and how they couldn’t wait till October to go to haunted houses. Every time someone mentions a haunted house I immediately remember when I was young I went on a haunted hayride. It was dark and I rode on the hayride until it stopped in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. I got off of the hayride with the group and our guide told us that we'd have to walk through an enclosure of sorts to get back to where we came from. Of course as we were walking, there were people dressed up jumping out to scare us. It was dark and I was scared. I was unsure of where I was going and what was going to happen next and I freaked out. A person jumped out to scare me and I started screaming and swinging and ended up punching them in the face. The facility had to stop the entire haunted experience because of me. This is kind of what I am feeling today. I’m on the ride of my life and I’m ready. But I do not know where I am going and what is going to jump out at me. The unknown is scary and I am a person that finds comfort in knowing what happens next, at least in retrospect. I guess that’s why I stayed in the classroom for so long. I was safe even though I was unhappy. I knew all the players and I was an expert on how to play the game. I could navigate through being unappreciated and devalued. I had enough money to pay my bills and to create and produce artistic work. I had the summers off to rest and I'd repeat the yearly cycle of enduring a toxic work environment. Now that that’s over, I feel like I’m in physical therapy. Learning how to walk again, socialize again, lift my head up again, and trust people again. I no longer spend mornings crying in my car. I no longer feel alone and isolated. Life today feels great. I can breathe. But it also feels scary. 

That’s my truth. 

I am wholeheartedly an introvert who dreams and overthinks, who is used to doing things by herself, who has taught herself how to do much of her creative output, who struggles in silence and shares through prose, and who rarely asks for help and when I do I immediately try to figure out how to give back to the person who helped me. Today, I’m being asked what I need and people, outside of my family and friends, are rallying around me to help me. I’m not used to that. I get emotional just thinking about it. 

So there. 

That’s where I’m at with it. 

That’s how I feel. 

My inner most thoughts. 

Gratefulness takes precedence right now in my life. 

I’m working through the rest.