On Flying Alone: Airplanes and Love Notes to My Multitudes

I love flying on planes and I love to do it by myself. There’s something that is always moving to me about being one of many ones. I mean to point out that so many people on planes are traveling alone.

I love to look at them all and wonder who they are and where they’re going and why they’re going there and if they’ll ever come back. I wonder if they’re going home or if they’re leaving and if they’re sad or they’re excited. I wonder if they’re going somewhere they’ve never been before and if they’re scared at all. I wonder if they’re starting over from the beginning or picking up where they left off. Will someone they love be waiting for them with a rapturous smile or will they be walking into a complete unknown when they deboard the plane?

I marvel at this sort of public anonymity. This no-questions-asked rhythm of coming and going. Leaving in a way that is so obvious, going so far away that you have to take to the air to do it. Yet giving no reason for your departure. Everyone is just going or coming and letting it be just that. It’s fascinating.

It occurs to me that I love to leave. I always like to imagine myself as one of the people who are leaving, no matter what kind of trip I’m on. Whether it’s a departure or an arrival. To me it’s the bravest travel there is. I’ve always been captivated by the idea of leaving all things familiar behind and going where I have never existed to anyone before. The slate is wiped clean and I can be a new person. I can invent a new me. Sometimes I like to retain a bit of the Old Jenny, the bits I really liked and the ones that are Me inside and out. But I like the idea of getting the chance to be something I’ve always wanted to be and not having to explain why I’m this way now. In a new place no one knows, I proclaim myself to be how I want to be. Sometimes I discover that how I thought I wanted to be isn’t really what I wanted to be and I return to the parts of Me that remain.

But even still, leaving is scary. It is a difficult process. I don’t meant to make it sound like it’s all fun and games. As a matter of fact, I don’t see it as a game, but as an undeniable duty to myself. There is certainly a struggle (metaphorically) to be met once I get where I’m going (geographically). But in the end, the geography is not what is important. It’s not the destination, but the journey. I find more of Me, a part of Me that I didn’t know was actually Me. This is the reward for this kind of lifestyle. Finding new parts of Me, my confidence grows and I feel more complete. I can state surely that This is Me.

Walt Whitman wrote, “I contain multitudes.” This is the basis for how I feel it necessary to live my life. So my mission is this: discover my multitudes, or as many as I can while the opportunity is mine.

Some notes, though: This is selfish. The way I think is beyond selfish, even. This isn’t something that has escaped me, unnoticed. Sometimes it hurts people, sometimes I ignore that I am not the only one who contains multitudes. I am transient and I don’t think of what my talk of leaving means to others. I don’t have a solution yet for selfishness, so I just want to acknowledge that I know it’s there. If you’re reading this and I’ve ever hurt you, I’m sorry. But there are those of you that take me as I am (I have 2 people in mind and I trust you know who you are). There is beauty and comfort in your roles in my life because I know that no matter where I go, I have never left you, and will never leave you. And no matter where you two go, you have never left me, and will never leave me. I said this recently in a spiel to one of you, but now let me say it to you both: You are Me. This is something I’ve discovered along my journey. You are each one of my multitudes.


Epilogue:
I have to say… when I started writing this post, I had no idea it was going to end up going where it went. But I’m glad it did. I think for the people who don’t understand the way that I think, it’s important to illustrate that leaving isn’t an attempt to erase the past or to push people away. In leaving, I think we afford ourselves the opportunity to find the truth, love and strength of our relationships, such that no matter where we go, we find we are never alone.

On How Time Passes When You Blink

Well, this is interesting.

A week ago, I had a different life. Then, I went away for a little bit. When I came back, everything had changed. Or at least if feels that way. Before Connecticut, I worked full-time for a credit card company—a job that I hated. After Connecticut, I’m a barista, working for Starbucks in a job I hope I’ll love. The change is a little bit scary. I’ve got a laundry list of things to stress about (if I choose to take it that far, beyond “things to just be aware of”).

The weirdest part though is how it doesn’t feel like there was a buffer between changes. Before Connecticut is abruptly different from After Connecticut. One minute, life was one way: structured, planned out in 15-minute increments, busy, safe. Then I turned my head for a moment and when I turned back, it had quickly become something less structured, almost chaotic, a little less safe. These aren’t bad things; in fact… these are things I’d wanted. I’d said time and again that I wasn’t a Cubicle Girl, or a 9-to-5er.

Listen, I’m a little stressed, okay? I’m not going to lie. I feel as though I’m facing a big unknown right now. I know that all is going to be well. Things will work out. But anytime there is a big change in our lives, a decision that we made, it’s perfectly natural to have that nagging little voice who tries to perk up and asks us, “Yeah but what if this wasn’t the right decision?” Part of me wants to know just exactly how things are going to change, because they aren’t done changing yet.

This is the scariest part of a journey. Right when you start off. It’s exciting, yet unknown. What if you get lost along the way? What if you run out of gas? What if the destination doesn’t meet your expectations? What if airport security makes you leave something behind and the next thing you know you’re in some foreign place and you can’t wash your hair?

Time to breathe. Time to let go. Expectations will be the death of us. (Or maybe just me.)

I’m feeling the pressure, the force of the wind trying to knock me down. But I feel the pressure, the force, because I’m standing up to it. My favorite yoga pose is Tree Pose. It’s the only one I do this for, but I have a mantra that I speak to myself every time we do the pose in class. I won’t give it word for word because it’s “mine” and I want to be selfish with it. But the idea behind it is that I am an immovable structure, rooted to and one with the earth. There are days where a silent wind seems to blow by me and I teeter. But I remind myself of my strength and instead of falling, I reach up and out and down at once and I am a tree and I will not be moved.

So now in my life, with resolve I branch out and I reach for greater heights. I will sway and I will bend, but I will not break. All the time, I remain deeply rooted in the earth.

This is my foundation.

evaluation

I'm starting my new job on Monday morning and I'm feeling conflicted. On one hand, this job is what I came to Evansville for, for the most part, and I get to use my degree and speak French. That's cool. On the other hand, it's starting to look more and more like a dead end. It's a 9 to 5 type deal that guarantees to be predictable and to cut the spontaneous bit out of my life.

I've started to wonder. Am I the 9 to 5 type? I mean... really? I've always loved my jobs I've held that were laid back and weren't heavy on the structure. I've started questioning myself. Was I looking for a 9 to 5 because I thought that's what I was supposed to do, and not necessarily what I wanted to do? Because I didn't know what else to do? Is this really me?

I'm nervous about this new job because I'm not so sure it is. I don't want to live by what society says I should be doing with my life now. I don't want to convince myself that there's anything I have to do, besides making rent. I still don't know about the rest of my life and I don't think that's a bad thing. I've never been happy doing things because I thought that's what I was supposed to be doing.

I think the real Jenny is pretty free spirit and the real Jenny is a little nervous that she's going to be stifled.