Because difficult shows up in different ways. And sometimes those ways are not the ways you might think. Sometimes difficult slides into the cracks, creeps its way forward, until you realize that this emotion that you’re feeling might not be coming from a place you can find.
[If you’ve been following the storyline so far, you would realize that the boy who started the story became my boyfriend. But I didn’t stop traveling. And that came with it’s own pitfalls.]
I’m lacking roots. And right now, while I’m excited to be traveling, I’m wanting those roots as well. I’m jealous of that day to day job where you can have hobbies and make friends that you keep instead of having to make new ones once or twice or three times a year.
But I think, when it gets down to it, I’m jealous of the relationships. I met a new group of people when I came home from college, and started hanging out with them and getting to know them, but then I went across the country and worked on a boat. And then I came back. And then I went off again. And then I came back. And then I left again. So off and on, I’ve been hanging out with these people, but off and on doesn’t build much of a relationship.
I’m jealous, I think, of doing something well and having people know I can do it well. Each time I’ve moved I’ve had to learn a lot of things from scratch, or pretty close to scratch, and after a time it’s wearing to be the new person who’s not as good at things as everyone else. Sometimes you need someone to be impressed with you, to realize that you’re doing a good job.
And if I’m going to be completely honest, then I have to say I’m jealous of other people’s relationships with my boyfriend. It’s not like I don’t want him to hang out with other people. It’s more of a “they get to hang out with him more often and maybe they even know him better than I do” kind of insecurity. It doesn’t happen as much when I’m at home, when I have the time to hang out with him myself.
And it all boils down to roots. Mine are flimsy things that like to walk across the ground. If I have an anchor, it’s some combination of my boyfriend and my parents. My parents are more like my emergency anchor — I like that it’s there, but I don’t want to go back to it if I don’t have to. I talk to them fairly often and probably always will; I am perfectly content seeing them only occasionally. My boyfriend is the only real anchor I have at the moment. If I didn’t have a life to compare mine to, would I want roots so badly? I’m not sure. I’m a wanderer at heart, and probably always will be. If I didn’t have something dragging me back, would I be coming back here at all?
And I’m terrified. Because he’s my anchor. I never wanted an anchor. But I don’t want to let this one go.