I’m ready to move again.

I’ve been in Virginia at my current job for going on two years now (which is approximately an eternity in my moving history) and everything in me is like a 6-year-old on a cross-country trip: are we there can I leave yet? My nomad heart is ready to be on the road once more.

I’ve got a sum total of 95 days left at my (not so) 9-5 job and if the past two months are any indication, it is going to be a very long three months.

Of course, there are some amazing things ahead; like good weather (no snow!), beautiful northern California, and a dream job that seems more like an avocation than actual work to name a few. But I’m not looking forward to those things as much as I am anxious to leave this place in my rearview.

This place of long, cold winters and fickle men and a job that leaves me bone tired and fed up. I’m itching to shed this old skin and get on with my life. Except that shiny future of better weather (and handsomer, less fickle men) is just that – the future. It doesn’t exist yet.

I try to daydream my way towards it though. I’d actually like to be a bear and just hibernate my way through these last three months. This past month I’ve been sleepwalking through my daily routine, half-listening to the voices around me in the present, my ears mostly tuned to the June beginning of my real life.

My real life.

I keep coming back to this over and over because I keep forgetting. This is my real life. This place with the job, weather, and men that I am completely over is my life. And though my future looms brightly just a short distance away, I’ve still got time left here, where I am, at this exact moment, to do what I was made to do.

I work with a bunch of 19-25 year olds. People who still think that they have all the time in the world. People who are likely to say things like: when I get out of the Navy in 5 years then I’ll start my real life. This is your real life, I  tell them. Even the parts that you hate or are scared of or bored out of your mind by. This is all a part of it. You aren’t a cat or Pac-man with extra lives to spare. There is no such thing as a practice life. This is it. In the words of C.S. Lewis:

“The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day; what one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination. This at least is what I see at moments of insight: but it’s hard to remember it all the time.

I guess I am writing this mostly as a reminder to myself because I am prone to try and fast forward the boring parts or exhausting parts of my life. Or maybe I’m writing this as a call to action of sorts. A lot can happen in 95 days — best to make it count.

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