Much as I loved living in Gone West, I realize in retrospect that I did not get out of my apartment enough. I very frequently didn't have plans for an entire weekend, and all I did to fill the hours was go for long walks and drink coffee.
Admittedly, coffee and long walks are some of my favorite things, but I rather prefer to be busy doing things with other people.
I didn't realize this until after I had been in Gone West for a while - I was so shell-shocked from being depressed in New York and from being culture-stressed in South Sudan and from giving up my international dreams that I couldn't really see anything for the first year or so that I lived in Gone West - but I needed more friends and activities.
By the time I realized it, it seemed too late, sort of, and because I didn't have a car, many activities that I would otherwise have tried felt too far away, especially when it meant meeting all new people after several bus/train transfers and then trying to get back across town late at night.
These are the travails of being a shy extrovert: you want more friends, but you don't want to have to go alone to meet them.
One good thing about moving to a new city is that I had to get out and make friends. I just had to. I knew exactly zero people when I moved here, and I love my coworkers, but they all have friends and families already.
Between fighting class and getting out and doing things, I am approximately 1000 times busier in Universe City than I ever was in Gone West.
The result is that I am happy, but broke. Also sleep-deprived.
I am not just broke because doing things costs money. I probably spend less on a day of hiking than I would spend on a day of wandering around Gone West. It's just that the more hiking and fighting, especially, I do, the more I buy.
There was the sword, of course.
T-shirts to wear for summer kung fu, when the gi is too heavy.
I kept jamming my toe, so I bought kung fu mat shoes.
I kept spraining my ankle, so I finally bought good hiking boots.
My knees have been hurting, so today I bought trekking poles.
I got tired of sunburning the part of my hair, so I bought a hat.
SOMEONE (hi, S.!) ordered us to wear non-cotton trousers, so I bought some quick-drying ones (short ones, though, since no one carries trousers long enough for me).
I sent my sister my old day-and-a-half pack that always felt a little short, so I bought myself a 60L backpack that fits me well.
I am happy about all of these things. Each of them improves my life in ways that I could probably measure if I took the time.
Most of the purchases I have made in my life that have made actual, substantial differences in my comfort and fill me with gratitude every time I looked at them are outdoor items. Unlike a dress that later begins to feel too short or not cute enough or whatever, a solid pair of hiking boots keeps giving and giving.
(Until your dad possibly throws one away when compulsively cleaning and/or leaves it in the van when he sells it. Details. Or maybe he didn't throw it away, and I've been unfairly blaming him all this time. Maybe someday we will find that single missing hiking boot somewhere in my parents' house and my long-term bitterness will be alleviated. And then I will have two good pairs of hiking boots.)
Between all of this hiking and fighting and doing, and a plane ticket to Michigan (the first one, I think, that I paid for all on my own), I am broke. Broke, and also happy.
Admittedly, coffee and long walks are some of my favorite things, but I rather prefer to be busy doing things with other people.
I didn't realize this until after I had been in Gone West for a while - I was so shell-shocked from being depressed in New York and from being culture-stressed in South Sudan and from giving up my international dreams that I couldn't really see anything for the first year or so that I lived in Gone West - but I needed more friends and activities.
By the time I realized it, it seemed too late, sort of, and because I didn't have a car, many activities that I would otherwise have tried felt too far away, especially when it meant meeting all new people after several bus/train transfers and then trying to get back across town late at night.
These are the travails of being a shy extrovert: you want more friends, but you don't want to have to go alone to meet them.
One good thing about moving to a new city is that I had to get out and make friends. I just had to. I knew exactly zero people when I moved here, and I love my coworkers, but they all have friends and families already.
Between fighting class and getting out and doing things, I am approximately 1000 times busier in Universe City than I ever was in Gone West.
The result is that I am happy, but broke. Also sleep-deprived.
I am not just broke because doing things costs money. I probably spend less on a day of hiking than I would spend on a day of wandering around Gone West. It's just that the more hiking and fighting, especially, I do, the more I buy.
There was the sword, of course.
T-shirts to wear for summer kung fu, when the gi is too heavy.
I kept jamming my toe, so I bought kung fu mat shoes.
I kept spraining my ankle, so I finally bought good hiking boots.
My knees have been hurting, so today I bought trekking poles.
I got tired of sunburning the part of my hair, so I bought a hat.
SOMEONE (hi, S.!) ordered us to wear non-cotton trousers, so I bought some quick-drying ones (short ones, though, since no one carries trousers long enough for me).
I sent my sister my old day-and-a-half pack that always felt a little short, so I bought myself a 60L backpack that fits me well.
I am happy about all of these things. Each of them improves my life in ways that I could probably measure if I took the time.
Most of the purchases I have made in my life that have made actual, substantial differences in my comfort and fill me with gratitude every time I looked at them are outdoor items. Unlike a dress that later begins to feel too short or not cute enough or whatever, a solid pair of hiking boots keeps giving and giving.
(Until your dad possibly throws one away when compulsively cleaning and/or leaves it in the van when he sells it. Details. Or maybe he didn't throw it away, and I've been unfairly blaming him all this time. Maybe someday we will find that single missing hiking boot somewhere in my parents' house and my long-term bitterness will be alleviated. And then I will have two good pairs of hiking boots.)
Between all of this hiking and fighting and doing, and a plane ticket to Michigan (the first one, I think, that I paid for all on my own), I am broke. Broke, and also happy.
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