What Am I Waiting For?

Recently, I’ve felt like everyone around me is moving and I’m standing still.

Like I’m in some sort of strange sort of limbo. A jellyfish, bobbing up and down and never finding the right current to travel on.

When I moved to San Francisco nearly six years ago, I was sure that I would find myself here. That I would finally discover what it was that made me tick. That I would find someone to fall in love with. That I would do something great with my life.

And don’t get me wrong. I’ve had incredible experiences here.

There were some big changes during my initial year here. Becoming adept at public transportation. Learning bike routes. Taking responsibility for my work.

And even though all of my weekends looked pretty similar—lounging in Golden Gate Park or Dolores—it was nice. It was nice to see all of the other young people around me. To be part of this group of people who had no cares other than running out of beers or the cute person down the hill playing frisbee with is dog.

And when this changed to weeknights watching bad TV with my roommates and weekends going to workout classes—Orange Theory, Barry’s, The Circus Center, Rumble SF—it still felt exciting. I would never have been able to have tried these boutique classes or watched that many episodes of Vanderpump Rules (with other people who also wanted to) if I’d stayed at home in Hawaii.

But, now, despite how much I love these activities, it feels like I’ve plateaued. Like I’m just going through the motions because of I’m familiar with them but not growing from them at all. I’m the same old me. I have my same prejudices. My same oddities. My same lack of love life. My same lack of a novel.

I just follow my San Francisco routine and experience day by day as what they have to be. Not would they could be.

Don’t get me wrong. I love routines. I’m the one who chooses to eat the same thing for breakfast every morning—oatmeal with raspberries, blackberries, freeze-dried blueberries, maple syrup and Justin’s honey peanut butter. I make the same thing for lunch every day—a salad made with kale, arugula, sweet greens and micro greens, and either tempeh, a beyond burger, or tofu. I wear an Aloha shirt every Friday. I go to the same workout class every Saturday morning. I like knowing what I’m doing ahead of time.

(I’m just now realizing that I’m a prime real estate for a stalker…)

But as much as I love routines, I also love big changes.

Okay, let me rephrase that. I basically have a panic attack when things deviated from my routine but after taking a minute and realizing that I had to adapt, I’ve always thrived in these situations.

I absolutely hated my first week of college and needlessly suffered alone in my room—reading on my dorm bed with my back against the thin closet doors in my own cloud of social anxiety—even though my roommate invited me to hang out with her and her high school friends multiple times. I honestly thought that she’d hate me if I actually took her up on the offer.

But, after a week of only leaving for classes and a meal at the cafeteria, I finally realized that I’d have to suck it up and accept when (or if) she asked again. I think I literally talked myself up—stood in front of my mirror and told myself that I couldn’t spend my entire college experience alone. That I had to try to make friends. And when did join her and two others in a room across campus, it was instantly a blast. Leaning against the plain plywood dorm dressers I learned about their life in the high desert and what it meant to be from there. I found out how much we all had in common—from movies to books to which guys we’d spotted in orientation. Soon we were friends not only with each other but also everyone on the third floor of our dorm building. And that was the best year of my entire college experience. I still replay memories from that first year and how close we all became.

The same thing happened when I moved to San Francisco. I had the initial nauseating fear of being uncertain about every aspect of my life. But that fear slowly turned to excitement as I settled in at my internship and the prospect of not knowing exactly what interested me, what life would be like in a city became appealing. It felt like the opportunities were endless and I was starting a new journey. And I was.

Now I’m older. I’ve been here for years. Suddenly, the ambiguity of my interests seems less like an opportunity and more like stagnation. The fact that I’ve lived in the same apartment for more than five years feels less like an accomplishment and more like I’m playing a waiting game (not that I’m not immensely grateful for the gorgeous apartment and actually cool roommates).

But maybe I need to find something, some part of my life to shake up. To once again push me out of my comfort zone and force me to develop intellectually, socially, and maybe even physically.

I don’t want to play a waiting game with the rest of my life.