“April is the cruelest month…” So begins T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land. There has been nothing particularly cruel about April so far, but it’s early in the month and there’s plenty of time for the sledgehammer of life to take out a few load-bearing walls. Despite a few cold mornings, it’s beginning to feel a like spring and color is returning to the world. Sticking with the cruelty theme, I would swear that I once read something about spring being a season in which depression and suicide numbers rise. Something about how new growth reminds people of how stuck they are or makes them feel as though the world is moving on without them. Eliot continues, “…breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain.”
If Eliot calls April the cruelest month, poet Edna St. Vincent Millay echos and twists the sentiment in her poem “Spring” which begins, “To what purpose, April, do you return again?” That poems ends with, “It is not enough that yearly, down this hill / April / Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.” I like that image and the grumpy dismissal of the season’s foolish optimism – down the hill the idiot month of April runs.
Spring, for me (and many people), begins a stirring, an unsettling, a shaking off of sorts. I want to be outside more. I want to move around more. I want to see people and things and feel the sun again. I had a taste of nice weather this past weekend and I’m looking forward to more of it. The daffodils are blooming, and I’ve read that in DC and Philly, the cherry blossoms are losing their minds.
With the optimism of spring comes small pangs of discontent. I had hoped to be further along in my personal plans – to be in a position of exploration and newness. By now, I had expected to be getting ready to take a long road trip or plan a move or be settled elsewhere. I’m most likely here for the entire month and longer. The pacing of change is interwoven with itself. I’m slow to look for jobs without knowing when I might actually move. I’m slow to give the dog up because separating is difficult and I don’t know when I absolutely need to give him up. I’m slow to move without having a job lined up. And the world keeps turning.
All of this (relocating and moving on to whatever comes next) might have been easier (in the planning sort of way) had I just given a firm date and worked backwards. One of my bad habits is to always offer up my time in as accommodating a way as possible: “I don’t have any firm plans, so sure, I’ll stay as long as you need me.” I linger. I’m a lingerer, a hanger on. I do this in lots of areas of life, especially relationships. “I’m not busy, let’s work around your schedule.” “I know you’ve left, but I’m still here if you wish to reconnect.” Emotionally, and with my time, I’m a pile of silly putty – pliable and if pressed I might mimic the comics. Left out too long, I become stale and useless.
Spring makes me think about travel – where to go, what to see. I’ve been back from my trip out west for a month and already I’m lamenting the many places I haven’t gone. Eliot’s poem mentions London, and I begin to wonder if I’ll ever visit. More precisely, I think I may live an entire lifetime and not see London or Paris or so many places in the world. Not because I can’t, but because I’ve already lived this long and have yet to do so. Despite saying it’s important to me, I have yet to make the time or space for it.
Such thinking carries with it the baggage of privilege. I’ve gone plenty of places – too many to make the complaint that I don’t travel. Yet, here I am longing for more travel. I feel greedy in my desire to see more. Many many people never see the world’s wonders, or foreign lands, or beyond the borders of their own towns or states – who am I to want more? Spring breeds desire. Thanks a lot, April – with your quiet discontents, with your stumbling down this hill.
I don’t do nearly as much travel as I would like. This, in turn, has me thinking about the inertia of going – the actual planning and committing to going part. What has prevented me from doing more of it? It would be easy to blame the job, the dog, finances, or the lack of access to a major airport. All of those things hold me back, which, taken together, become this immovable force. Yet, I have this nagging suspicion that were I traveling with someone, I’d be more motivated to go or I’d find ways around those obstacles. It’s as if having a travel companion might be just enough motivation to overcome inertia. I’ve taken a few trips on my own, but for most of my life, vacation has always been with someone else. This is one of those times when I begin to question why I don’t do for me what I would do for/with others. Is there a deeply hidden sense that I’m not worth the effort?
And maybe travel is only a small piece of the bigger picture of change and restlessness that I’m considering… (still spring and all its stirrings). For months, I’ve been making a mental checklist of how I’d like the next chapter to begin or look. I know that I have little control over these things – or more accurately, that I should be willing to give up trying to control these things. In attempt at clarity, I’m asking myself the question: what am I looking for? When I try to answer that question, I’m surprised by how open-ended and fluid the answers are. I have almost no expectation that the next place will be great or that it will be the last place. It’s as if I can imagine myself living anywhere, yet I can’t imagine it beyond the first few years. In the back of my mind, I keep open the possibilities of new jobs, moving in with someone, going back to school, new interests, and yet more new cities. It’s as if I can no longer imagine a sense of permanence. I can have no sense of home, or I can believe home is everywhere.
Given that a sense of home seems fluid, what’s on the checklist? What do and don’t I have in my present moment or didn’t have in past moments? And even that isn’t right. I flip it around to be growth oriented. What do I wish to build? What do I have that I would like more of? The best way I can describe what I seek is by saying that I’m looking for opportunities. I’m looking for enough opportunities in enough of life’s domains to be able to stick around for a while – to make a go of it, to live out the multi-dimensional self that I wish to be and think I am. I’m looking for more ways to be open and receptive to wonder. I’m looking for opportunities for a balanced and rich life: work, writing, friends, travel, a partner, access to a sense of place or places, and inspiration. I suppose I could look at all of those things and see the common threads of wonder, and love. Born out of an appreciation for all that I’ve had and found, a love of life leads to loving and wanting more life – a greediness of the soul. Travel, and you want more travel. Work a meaningful job, and you want all of your work to be meaningful. Have a deep and fulfilling love and you want all of your loves to be deep and fulfilling.
In work, I’d like to be mentally engaged, hopeful, and part of something bigger than myself. I seem to gravitate towards positions where I can learn and where I can be of service. If I can’t have those things, because I’m increasingly beginning to believe that it’s quite ok to not find fulfillment in work, I think I’d like to be left alone. If I’m not engaged in my work, I’d like to be able to show up, do my job, and go home to other things and other passions. Admittedly, I have trouble imagining, or seeking, that type of employment – I’ve always been invested in and attached to my work.
In writing, I think I’d like a little more external stimulus. I’d like more exposure to life – both nature and human nature. I think I need a balance of the two. I’m probably more drawn to a life in which I’m surrounded by people and then escape into the wilderness as opposed to being surrounded by nature and escape into the city. Either way, I think I’d like access to both (as well as a quite third place – home or some type of familiar sanctuary away from the external stimulus). I think a lot of artist types struggle to find the balance between the outer world and the inner world: stimulus and processing, noise and quiet, observation and reflection. I think poets get a bad rap for being morose. They say things like “April is the cruelest month,” but I think they’re often lamenting not being large enough to take everything in: death and rebirth, sorrow and joy, pleasure and pain. I’m still trying to figure out what type of writer I am, but I don’t gravitate towards writing about the quietness of the woods or the serenity of a lake. I tent to focus on the tension of human relationships which makes me want to observe (and experience) the beauty in that tension.
In travel and geography, I want access to escape routes. Having a major airport nearby would be a plus (it might be a necessity). Right now, if I want to go anywhere, it’s a three hour drive or a connecting flight to a major airport. That can make for long travel days. I also wouldn’t mind having quicker access to different types of scenery. An hour in every direction from here, and you’re still in the mountains of central PA. I’d like to be closer to the ocean or a major body of water. I was mesmerized by the Mississippi River when I lived in Memphis, and I loved my many trips to the beach when I lived in the Philly area. I’d also like to explore urban areas more often than I do. In Philly, and to a lesser extent Memphis, I enjoyed checking out different neighborhoods and wandering around (without necessarily having to get in the car). There are small towns here that I could check out, but there’s no bleed over. The boundaries are set. Once you’ve seen the town, you either have to drive to the next town or go home. In urban environments you can more easily shift between different cultures as you cross from one neighborhood to the next.
In friends, I hope to find common interests – good people to hang out with. I’ve met a good group of guys here. I’m in no hurry to leave them and I worry I may not find that again. What I currently have seems rare (or maybe I didn’t look or try before). In this respect, I think being around like-minded people helps. I can relate to the more liberal-leaning professorial types that live here, but outside of town, it’s a different story. Making new friends as an adult is difficult, and I’ve only recently discovered how doing so can add different dimensions to life. For most of my adult life, my primary friend (in some cases, my only friend) was my partner. I’d like to work on having a better balance in the future. However, it’s not something that can be forced. Friendships (and relationships) happen organically and the best one can do is to position oneself in a way that opens up possibilities.
Given the checklist, most cities seem to be able to provide a number of the things I’m looking for. For months (years), I’ve been trying to rank them and prioritize them so that I can determine which path to pursue. In doing so, I’m still struck by how embarrassed I feel when I admit that finding a meaningful relationship/partner is at the top of that list (followed by a political leanings/diversity and a pleasant climate). I’m in this weird space where meeting someone is a priority but also not a priority (and currently not much of an option). I’m not looking to chase it or force it, but I’m aware of the richness it provides. On many days, I’m quite content in my bubble. I have some books and podcasts. I have friends that I see once a week. I practice writing and I listen to music. What’s absent are the minor and major conversations, the collaborative building and dreaming, the inside jokes, the introduction of new ways of living and seeing, the tiny competitions in generosity. I’ve learned to fine without those things (a necessary lesson), but it doesn’t mean that I don’t miss them. If this is a priority for me, placing myself in a geographically advantageous spot seems like a reasonable move.
I have written, almost incessantly, about this battle between contentment within and seeking. No matter how hard I practice stillness, the world beckons. There’s an almost constant refrain of, “this place would be better if…” Place could be job, or geography, or emotional space, or relationship. I’ve sat in otherwise miserable traffic and found it enjoyable because I had good company. I’ve had stressful work days wiped away by a good meal, a drink with friends, time with family, a walk, or otherwise getting lost in the company of a partner. It’s difficult to admit that we need other people, and it’s especially difficult for me to admit. Many of us have been shamed into thinking that needing others is a weakness. Dependency is a weaponized and misused term. The practice of toxic positivity has twisted the notion of gratitude to the extent that many of us feel guilty about wanting more out of life. For me, it’s difficult to say, this is good, but maybe not enough. In saying so, I feel as though I’m dishonoring my present life when what I’m really hoping to do is build on it.
I began this post thinking about spring and renewal and the cruel discontents of April. No matter how hard I try, I recognize that I can’t think my way out of these things and I can’t really force anything. I tend to believe that what we chase often eludes us. Which is why I think the best I can do is put myself in positions of opportunity. Opportunity to meet new people, opportunity to travel, opportunity to find meaningful and/or sustainable work, and opportunity to find wonder. Because I don’t expect to get those things correct on the first try (or maybe even the tenth try), I’m also looking for an abundance of opportunities. In Memphis, there weren’t a lot of jobs, the dating pool seemed thin, and travel options were limited. In State College, there are even fewer jobs, fewer things to do, fewer people to date, and travel is harder (not to mention I love sunny days which are in short supply here).
Those yearnings seem to be at the heart of April’s cruelty. Beauty caught in the fog of memory. Growth with a desire for more growth. A sense of bigness that doesn’t feel sufficiently large as though one might burst out of the confines of their own body. When you love the world, you want to gather all of it in your arms. Spring feels impatient yet it begs us to slow down and observe. It’s an idiot running down the hill babbling and strewing flowers, and so often I feel the urge to run with it.