Lost in Transition

Let’s be real. I haven’t written in months. I couldn’t. This year felt like one shitstorm after the next, from every different angle. Just when I felt like I could get back up, the universe kicked me right back down. Trust me, it’s not “me against world.” That sounds miserable and exhausting. I know I am blessed with an incredible support system of family and friends, but there is only so much they can do. I’m the one that has to sit with my spiraling, anxiety-ridden thoughts at night when I should be sleeping.

I really got to know my anxiety when I first moved to Chicago in 2016. Everything happened very quickly, and my anxiety wanted to be front and center throughout my master's degree and my transition into the workforce. When I reflect on the past 8 years in the Midwest, I see transition after transition. My 20s were spent in a positive evolution with festering side effects. While things started to look better and better on paper, the worse things got in my head. Change is a beautiful thing, but very uncomfortable. This month, I am approaching yet another transition loaded with fear, grief, growing excitement, and relief (that's a weird combination of emotions to hold all at once).

On a teary-eyed phone call with my dad and stepmom several months ago, we talked at length about the next steps as my time in Milwaukee comes to a close. My stepmom said “I feel like you’ve been out there in orbit for so long just making it work. It’s time to come home.” I really felt that. 

Let’s dissect her words into two parts. “In orbit” hit me like a ton of bricks. When I think of a planet in orbit, I think of two words, “spinning” and “suspended”.  A planet suspended by outside forces, spinning around its own axis while simultaneously spinning around another planet at an unfathomable speed. What if she just wants her feet to touch the ground? I have often shared with friends that I feel like I’m just floating around waiting for something to stick. And it feels like it never does. When I moved to Chicago, something clicked and I chose to solely focus on horn. I really believe every successful orchestral musician has to go through this intense phase. The work doesn’t happen itself. However, sole focus on the horn meant a pause on other aspects of my life - the suspension. While I feel like this was a necessary step for me, I don’t think it was healthy. I was all or nothing and my whole identity was wrapped up in the horn. It didn’t help that I never knew where the next paycheck was coming from, let alone where I was living a few months out from most any moment. My brain went into survival mode, constantly trying to protect myself from failure. If I failed at horn, I was a failure in life. A mind constantly spinning.

The second part of my stepmom’s sentiment resonates in a couple ways. The first way is literal. I’m not in the best headspace, auditioning is expensive etc. Moving home to NYS makes a lot of sense logistically. But it also feels like I need to "come back home", to myself. I have spun myself out, done a lot of disassociating, and lost myself somewhere along the line of resisting all the change. Home-home gives me the space and safety to come back to me.  Turning 30 and moving back in with my parents was not the fantasy I had in mind. It feels like a blow to my ego. Let's face it, that's not something I would advertise on a dating app. At first, I felt like I was trying to navigate my pride by deciding to not let anyone know what my plans are. In my desire for control, I have been feeding myself lines like it's only temporary, lots of people do this, it's a smart move financially, etc. While these sentiments are true, I need to drop the storyline that I have to defend myself, from my anxiety, from other people's opinions on my decision. What I really need to do is surrender.

As of late, the universe has been sending me not-so-subtle hints that surrendering is the key. It first came up in a meditation practice I follow on Patreon... then in a Sara Bareilles tune that popped up in my Spotify shuffle while driving with lyrics that say "Surrender's just a word, 'til you try it out and see how hard it is to hurt..." Then it appeared in a tarot card reading I had. Okay, I got it. I need to surrender to the process. I have been trying to control the change, creating my own resistance. It's intimidating to relinquish control, the main prerequisite to surrendering. But I am comforted by this thought: “what is meant for you, is already on its way.” This upcoming transition is a whole lotta things, but I know I am right where I need to be.