77/90, a mess

::nearly titled "s mrdd" because my fingers slid over a key::

Today, my department officially gave me the go-ahead for graduation. I wrapped up my exit interview, was asked if I would change anything about the program and spent some time talking about how awesome France is with the director of my program (PR, baby! yee-yah.).

There are days when I'm really excited about PR–days when I think about the difference that I could make working for a nonprofit. These are mostly days when I'm doing PR work; when I'm reminded of how natural it feels more me to be standing in front of people, talking; when I'm typing away at a my computer. I love the work. I love the energy I get. I love knowing that I could use my skills and my passion to make a real change.

Then I step away from it for a day, or I start writing-writing again, and I know, as I've known since second grade, that this is what I'm meant to be doing. This is what excites me when I wake up. This, these blog posts, have become the marker for each day.

I live for the feeling of words floating from my head to my hands; I'm most excited by the way we can play with–manipulate–language and emotion. I'm most excited by the idea of creation, the opportunity to leave something behind, to put something on a shelf of a library or bookstore or coffee shop that people can pick up, interact with and feel something. Maybe even feel like they know me in some way.

And then I go into a French classroom or think about the next year, and I wonder, "What good is my life if I cannot find a way to use this language? What have I done if I go so far, but never really speak it?" I want to read every book that I touch in French. I want to find every book that has meant anything to anyone and absorb it, taking in their culture and history. I want to be surrounded by these passionate people, these social liberals, these opinionated peoples.

So I'm a bit torn about my life right now. From the outside, for a lot of people, it seems put together. We got lucky, Joe and I; I'll never pretend that it was anything but luck and our blind faith in every opportunity. It seems so organized–managing long distance, then marriage, then France, then higher higher education. I guess that's some kind of structure. But I feel like people think I've got it together. Every congratulations, every accolade lately has made me feel like a fraud.

Because, here's the truth: I have no idea what I'm doing. I want all three of these things. I want to bring them together and be a successful wife-mother that does some PR work while writing her creative nonfiction book(s), working with clients/organizations/environmentalists that speak French. That's what I want. I want all of that after Teach for America, after seeing the world, after going to graduate school in a city that has everything, after starting to really feel like an adult.

Because I'm not mature yet. I know that. I know I'm still figuring out what all of this really means to me. I know what is necessary. I know that the writing is absolutely essential. I know that Joe will teach, and I will do anything in my power to make that possible for him. I am willing to be anywhere for the chance to see him settled in a university setting. Because the rest will work out in some weird way.

It took me a while to realize that the best things come when your not looking, Joe being the best example of that. The best things have been happening for ages before you catch on to how great they are–before you can really start to appreciate it. So I'm trying to go with it. I'm thanking God that I have a year to teach one class and spend my days writing and kissing my husband and speaking another language. I'm thanking everyone for letting me go, figure it out, and for once let myself fall into where I'm supposed to be instead forcing on a shoe that doesn't fit.