To Only Know That Water is Wet

In case any of you adoring readers were curious (I’d bet a sizable sum that you were, as we both know you’re supposed to be constantly wondering about all facets of my life.), yes, yes I have exhausted Craigslist. Every. Last. Inch. Allow me to explain. I’ve spent much of 2017 unsure about my decisions, my routes, my plans. Contrary to what I expected to happen as the year progressed, my decisiveness has only regressed. I got involved in the most dangerous game; ‘Once I ____, then I’ll be ____ .’ Listen. I know The Most Dangerous Game is a much different thing (Wacky hunting story from the 1920’s. I wikipedia-ed the heck out of it just now.), but after much research of what sounds like horrific plot, I still think my version is scarier. Mathematics have never been a suit of strength for me, but I’m versed enough to know that a formula like that is asking for a lot of energy sunk into a pyramid scheme. Relax, HoneyCombs. It’s mega easy to fall comfortably into that algorithm. Especially when most the cards in your deck are unknowns. That’s my hand right now; A full house of cards I can’t quite make out. And the dealer hasn’t been helpful in the slightest.

Because of this, I’ve spent most of my free time (and much of my time that’s supposed to be devoted elsewhere) getting lost in the abyss that is Craigslist. I’ve checked on how much it would be to live in a small cabin in Missoula, MT and if there are waitress positions in any of their downtown restaurants (nothing that really appeals to me, but I could make do). While polishing glassware at work, I think about checking if anyone in San Diego needs a roommate. I then make a mental note to learn anything about San Diego. I’ve spent hours searching schools in California and then fantasizing that at least half of them will say, ‘Ms. Biesack, we can’t continue to remain open if you don’t attend our university. How much money can we give you? And let me send out for some fancy waters and offer you a pedicure since everyone on the west coast knows you’re quite terrible at doing them yourself (which we find so endearing). Also, can we put you on a billboard for no reason?’ I check writing jobs in Portland. I look at housing in Mexico City. Treading the tides of possibilities has become my newest activity. My tone right now seems to be mostly matter-of-fact, but I assure you that’s all for show; I’ve actually found this all incredibly frustrating and overwhelming. This body of water is one I tend to frequent more often than not, and though my sea legs have become impressively toned, I’d love to let them set foot on solid ground.

Here’s the thing. I feel like I should have some sage advice for you on how to deal with uncertainty, of paths unpaved. I do not. (Shocked to your core? I could hug you into infinity for thinking I know all that there is.) What I can say is this: fighting hard waters in a panic won’t allow for clarity, for breath, for space. I don’t mean let it drag you around. Rather, tread with your head above. Keep your eyes wide and look in all directions. Breathe deep in those deepest oceans. Treading is a temporary action that builds muscle that guides steps that create marks. It is integral to solidity. I’ll do it if you do it.

By Leah Biesack