My head was pressed against the steering wheel as I cried into my speakers on the phone with Shane.
“I just can’t do this anymore,” I sobbed. “I don’t want to be here. I want to be in Las Vegas. Or Europe. I am so stuck!”
It had been more than a week since I had been back from Las Vegas and I was frozen.
Stalled.
Stuck in this miserable, awful rut of self-pity. Of confusion. Of every rotten emotion someone could have.
I don’t want to be in Maryland. I want to be in Las Vegas.
“What can you do to make it happen?” My patient friend asked.
I needed a job. I needed money. I needed so many things to simultaneously fall into place that it made my head spin.
“I don’t know.”
A few days earlier I had posted on facebook about how badly I wanted to be back in Las Vegas.
“Just come home …” Kyla had written on my wall. “You can come be a nanny and we will figure it out.”
“Just do it,” he said as I sat in my car, motionless, hoping to regain my composure once I walked in the front door.
“Right,” I began, and then he and I planned everything out.
A few minutes later I had calmed down and let myself in my house, where my dad was sitting at the kitchen table.
“Dad,” I breathed. “I need to talk to you.”
We sat together and I laid it out.
I want to move back to Las Vegas. Even though I don’t have a job. Even though I am running out of money. Even though my belongings are in Atlanta. I am going to buy a ticket out there, returning in a month for Thanksgiving, and I am going to live with Kyla and I am going to pound the pavement until I find a job. Then, I am going to make my stay as permanent as I can make anything (semi-permanent).
It was a risk. There was a real threat of not succeeding and having to return to Maryland, tail tucked between my legs and even more miserable than I had been.
But, hell. It’s not like I hadn’t taken any risks before. Right?
“OK,” he said, grinning. “You do what you need to do.”
So, I booked a round-trip ticket from BWI to Las Vegas, Vegas back to BWI… and then another ticket to return to Las Vegas after Thanksgiving.
“I’m doing it,” I said, smiling to myself.
A wave of emotion rushed over me. Comfort. Relief. Challenge.
At that moment, everything finally felt right.
8 Comments on "Coming clean"
On the positive side, you know where your heart is! Things will work out, I’m sure. You seem to have friends and family that are there to support you!
I do … am very lucky!!
Gut decisions are the best ones, you’ll make it happen!
Thank you!!
First: thanks very much for your comment on my Morocco article for The Travel belles. I’m glad I found you. Believe me, your heart (or gut) knows better than your head. You went, you will make it.
Thank you!! Loved your Morocco article!
Good for you! Your happiness is important. Even if you have to work as a bartender for a little while or something along those lines to keep the money up, you will be SO much happier. I WISH I knew where I wanted to live. You can do it!
Thank you!!