It was quiet outside. Not even the Swans had started taunting the world around them, but laid still in their corner of the river bank as I passed by on my bike.

Another early morning. Another day of travel.

A trip to Heidelberg with our summer interns was underway, that is, as soon as I could get to the train station to buy tickets. The six of them were waiting there, excited to explore a new town together. I was excited too, but I think for a different reason.

What is it in my heart that longs so badly for these days when I leave what I previously knew? This week has been rough in Tübingen. There were so many more problems to answer and things to do than I had energy for. Or maybe it was the thought that has been heavily echoing in my head, the realization that there’s no going home from this.

This summer has included more travel than I even know what to do with. It was a back and forth between being deeply involved with the life and times of Tübingen, and the wedding of a brother and almost brother. Not more than six hours after our semester “ended,” I was on a race across the world with my team so we could get to a week of professional development. Every four weeks was another set of transatlantic flights, a taste of “home.” Now that is over.

It may have been quiet outside, but only because no one else could hear the Siren’s song as I approached the train station.

 

—

I moved to Illinois when I was 21. During especially lonely times, I remember going for a drive on the Interstate. I would go and go, for hours sometimes. It took me awhile to realize why. My Idaho license plates were not strange out there. People from all parts of the country were on their way to other parts of the country. It was one time where it wasn’t wrong for me to be unsettled.

 

Un·set·tled (ˌənˈsetld) — Adjective – lacking stability; worried and uneasy; not yet resolved.

How long does it take to settle? It seems like I’ve been trying for an eternity. I’ve put more effort into making a home here than I have in any other place in my life. And yet, it hasn’t taken root. I still go to community picnics and wander on the outskirts. I still look forward to the days I get to flirt with the Siren.

 

—

I wasn’t even asking the question yet.

Mexico. Spain. Chile. Time and time again, I heard people tell stories of their transition into this life I live. It turns out that my internal expectation that one can jump into a new cultural world and make a home in 6 months was a bit uncalled for. They were almost unanimous:

Two years, Tony. Give it two years.

“Two years? That’s four times as long as I’ve already worked! I’m so tired as it is, how am I supposed to survive this four more times? I don’t have that much resilience left in me.” – This Week’s thoughts

“Two years? Ok. If that’s what it takes, I guess we’ll keep going.” – Last Week’s thoughts

Life is tricky. My brain is tricky. I’m not sure what it is that allows me to be patient enough to wait one day and impatient enough that I have an emotional meltdown the next. I’m not sure how to make life more the former than the latter. I am starting to think, however, that Time is more important than I want it to be. I am starting to realize that one cannot simply work their way through transition on her or his own abilities.

Maybe there’s some truth hidden in the grammar. Maybe there’s some hope hidden in negative space created by it.

I don’t settle myself.

I am settled.

 

Still Wandering,

Tony