10/8 - As I stepped out the front door on Friday to go to the library, I noticed a familiar FedEx envelope sitting on the welcome mat. I instantly knew what this meant.
Momentarily distracted from my original purpose, I picked up the envelope with a growing excitement. My heart rate quickened. This was it. I had prepared myself for the possibility that my visa application would be denied. So, as if the French Consulate knew what I would be thinking when I saw the envelope, they had placed my passport into the envelope open to the page where this visa is found.
The visa is tinged with green, and my surly, unshaven mugshot dominates the left side. Finally, a concrete answer. I felt a sense of relief. It's official: I'll live in France! Outside once again, I punched the air, jumped into space and let out a loud cheer to break the silence of the neighborhood. And while driving to the library I let more joy burst from me in the form of excitable yelling and more cheers.
I leave for France on Monday. The idea is suddenly that much more real. I will use this opportunity to build self-respect, humility, vulnerability, work ethic and, hopefully, a more complete understanding of myself. There will be much more focus on self improvement this time around in Europe, but that doesn't mean there won't be travel involved as well. It will be stupid to pass up an opportunity to fly from Paris to Lisbon, Portugal round trip for $36.
In other news, I took the Foreign Services Officer test last week. If nothing else, I know what to expect for the next test. If I did in fact fail it, I cannot retake it for a year, so that will give me plenty of time to catch up on the reading ans studying. Discipline will come into play here. Also, in an effort to understand the job more, I scheduled an appointment to meet with the Diplomat in Residence of the Northwest in Berkeley. But since she was out sick, I spoke to her on the phone. The gig sounds fantastic.
10/10 - With just a week left in the United States (Shit, it still doesn't feel real), my parents took me on a road trip to Yosemite National Park to remind me of what I'll be moving away from. I haven't been to Yosemite since probably high school when I hated hiking. In fact, I'm a completely different person now compared to 10 years ago (imagine that?), so this road trip was a blast.
This time in Yosemite we hiked North Dome, a 10-mile trek to the cliff directly opposite Half Dome. It was a stunning view, but the hike itself was deceptive. The first couple of miles were flat and easy, but the final mile to North Dome was steep, slick and rocky, because the only surface was the larger-than-life granite cliffside. I knew the hike would get much more difficult!
My parents also took me to Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, a part of Yosemite where few guests visit. It was great how silent the lake was; next time I return to California I'd like to hike that whole trail around the reservoir. But this was another reminder of the features of California, and everything it offers. People all over the world would kill to live here, and sometimes us native Californians take it for granted. And as for Yosemite...how have I not seen more of it? Why did I never have the interest to explore it? That park is incredible.
13/10 - Not only have I lost the passion for sports writing, adding to this blog has lost its fun as well. It has become a tedious chore, a task born out of habit. It no longer provides joy or entertainment, simply an obligation to other people.
It was pointed out to me today that I write without passion or emotion in this blog, essentially just documenting a chronological order of events during my life. So, I will step away for a couple of weeks in order to explore myself and what I actually want and need from this upcoming year and my life. Writing, obviously, is nothing more than a hobby for me at this point.
I currently find myself back in Visalia just a few days before the flight. It seems appropriate that I'm back in this area, the sight of recent revelations and reformations. During lunch today, a friend asked me, "Mike, what are you?" in response to me saying, "I wouldn't be shit without my parents' help." I pondered an answer for a moment.
"I'm a recovering asshole," I said.
During the year in Porterville, I moved away from common courtesy, manners, etiquette, respect and empathy. This trip to France will take me back to basics. I must understand others before expecting others to understand me.
Most of all, I need to rediscover the joy I once found in writing. Putting my thoughts into words used to be automatic. I used to be inspired to write by everyday life. Lately I haven't felt the strong urge to write, maybe because I burned myself out. This will be the final post until I become settled in Cherbourg.
I'll end the post here. Suddenly, the story of my car being towed away in San Francisco while I was away for 20 minutes doesn't seem so important anymore. That isn't the kind of inspiration I need to reignite my love of getting these words down.
Call this an intervention.
No comments:
Post a Comment