Back in the Nest

One month of living at home and unemployed, it was time to make a decision: move in or move out.

The carpet of my room barely peaks through the mounds of unorganized clean clothes (some probably filthy) and other seemingly miscelaneous items scattered throughout. Getting to my bed on the far side of the room is like playing a game of twister by yourself. I lose the game every time - snap a pair of sunglasses under my foot, leave a dark footprint on my white shirt, or puncture my skin with a rebel tac.  

The decision to move in or out wasn't actually mine to make. It was theirs, whoever they are who never called me for a follow up interview. Heck, they didn't even email me to say "From your letters of recommendation, you sound like be a wonderful, passionate, hard-working person; but we are sorry to inform you that we have found somebody more qualified for the job." Nope, none of that. I finally logged onto their website to view my application status, which bluntly stated: REVIEWED; NOT SELECTED.

Ma! Pa! I'm officially moving in! No more of this half-in half-ready-to-flee crap, with boxes still packed as they were when I left my college apartment. I'm literally making myself at home, because it's going to be a cold winter back in the nest.

I find myself snapping back at the stellar jay heckling me outside the window. "Shush, you! It's not my fault I'm not qualified for any of the jobs I'm applying for!" He just cocks his head to the left, then to the right, and shuffles away from me along the power line. 

See, living at home can be a bit of a doosy. The pecking order of cards in my wallet has flipped. Instead of my credit card and ID being the most used, my library card has shuffled forward. If you text me and ask me what I'm up to, my reply will probably leave you wondering if you accidentally texted your grandma instead. Hello, I'm actually knitting a giant sock to keep the exposed toes of my brothers casted leg warm. Yes, I'm handwriting letters to my friends in other regions of the country. Mhmm, I sure am planting a bulb garden in our front yard. I spent half a day listening to Van Morrison and making origami flowers, then when I decided to fill out my dry erase board calendar, I had no events or trips or due dates to busy it with. Just a perfectly empty month of October.

And a perfectly empty month of October it will continue to be at this rate. 

But there is beauty in downtime. The beauty to be creative. The beauty of self improvement. The beauty of strengthening blood relationships. The beauty of inspiration that pours out of the fountain of freedom. But I'm penniless, so with nothing but pocket lent to throw in the well, it's taking a lot of initiative to bust out the walls of this box. 

So, alternatively, I sift through the boxes that contain evidence of my five years at college being what they were. Pictures, letters, sentimental objects, and lots of memories attached to just about everything. Unpacking made me realize how long college really was. The flux of people who impacted my life, for the better or worse, ushered to my current status tears and laughter, sometimes both at the same time. In every romance there was a climax immediately followed by a downfall. In every friendship there was time and space undulating between us with no sense of rhythm or direction. With every personal battle, there remains a scar and a lesson learned. Sadly in college, I had no eminent endurance for anything but running and school, what I considered my noble priorities. And now that I'm finished with those priorities, I'm left with a hint regret for not following through on some aspects of my personal life. The irony of it all is that my passion lies in personal relationships. It's love that I must find before this life is over. It's love that ignites a fire in me to change or grow or create. It's love that my orbit wraps in a cozy desire. 

It's love that has now soared high and mighty as my noble priority.

It's love that I'm searching for...