settling

From a website of writing prompts, I came across this:

"July 12 
Today is “Paper Bag Day.” It marks the day that the paper bag manufacturing machine was patented. If you were given a paper bag, what you put in the bag and why?"

Into my giant paper bag (I’d need a giant one), I’d put the anxiety, the doubt, the depression. I’d toss in the insomnia. The clutter would follow. The inhibitions. The over-analyzing.

Tonight (this morning, actually), all of these are rampant, swirling around in my head so quickly I feel nauseated.

We just returned from vacation. On this trip, I heard Cardo tell someone, my aunt, I think, that we’ve decided to settle down here. Only, did we? We talked about it. I fantasize about it. Settling down here, though, feels more like settling. It feels like copping out, giving up, shutting down.

“If we stay, what will I do? Will I stay home with Pic?” I asked him on the drive home.

“You could find a job,” he answers. “Whatever you want to do. It’s up to you.”

I couldn’t even imagine a life without moving on. Actually, I could and I have, just not a complete life. What would I do? What would I be? Who would I be?

I try to imagine how we would manage with me gone for the better part of three years and I can’t. I try to imagine how we would manage with me taking Pic with me to work on my PhD for the better part of three years (racing through and attempting to write a dissertation away from my school) and all I see for her is upheaval. I know he’ll come with me wherever I go, but I also know that the idea of being able to settle down here is so appealing to him. He sees how tired, how worn, I am and he wants us to stay and he wants me to rest. I don’t know that I’m capable.

On the drive home, I thought about his comment about us deciding to stay here where we have a tiny support network, and all I could think was that I’d be the ultimate failure. I’ll have never tried anything in my life...