In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Two: The Last Supper

"Someday, I'll be falling without caution
But for now, I'm only people watching
I'm only looking just to live through you vicariously
I've never really been in love, not seriously"

- Conan Gray, "People Watching"

Chapter Two

That night provided no progress on packing, but Thursday morning was exhaustingly busy. The day was a swirl of sorting clothes, digging through junk drawers, and cursing the number of items I owned.

Where did I even get half of this crap?

The apartment had been my home for years. Objects had wormed their way into every possible nook and cranny. Closets were discovered to hold more than I thought, drawers were never-ending supplies of randomness, and I couldn't figure out why I had so many kitchen gadgets. I hardly knew how to cook. If a recipe veered beyond the basics, it was like putting a child in a spaceship and telling them to get to Mars — it wasn't happening. The tools were entirely useless to me; it was beyond my understanding why I owned them at all.

I spent the day deciding what to keep. Did I really need a garlic press? Or the spare wheels I believed actually went to furniture long discarded? It would be terrible if I got rid of something, only to then discover I really did need it, but I also couldn't imagine lugging all my junk across the country.

And even regardless of need, there was an urge to throw it all away. To stray to a 'new city, new me' mentality – the nagging desire to cut the ties that bind and allow it to consume my packing. To give in to the singing urge to reinvent myself.

It was a chance to start over.

I was moving one step closer to my dream of being a diplomat. I had cried, bled, and stayed up all night studying foreign policy for the chance of a beautiful future. I'd sacrificed friends for internships, Saturday nights for tears over textbooks, and boyfriends for LinkedIn connections. I'd given up years of my prime for it.

I gave up having a life so I could have a future.

I had watched friends get engaged, married, pregnant, and travel. I'd watched them be happy. It hurt I didn't feel the same happiness they seemed to feel. Or at least, I didn't feel it quite yet. But one day I would feel it. One day I'd also be gleeful and content, and I knew I couldn't take my eyes off the prize before then. 

Besides, I felt at least some happiness even now from my career, and one day I'd feel it all. One day I'd have everything I'd ever wanted, and it wouldn't matter that I was 'behind' my friends. I wasn't entirely sure I even wanted a relationship or a family, but I knew I wanted success. And that was okay.

And yet, I'd be lying if I said a part of me wasn't anxious. What if I did want a family, or someone to hold, but one day it became too late? What if there was an invisible threshold where I missed out on any chance of life?

When I was no longer in my twenties, and no longer young, would I be ready to live then? Would I discover I was too late?

Kennedy loathed this thought process. While she shared her concerns sometimes that I was obsessed with work, or that I seemed lonely, she also felt concerned about the anxieties I carried. It was silly, she reasoned, to compare yourself to the curated posts of social media or the timelines of others.

She was right. Of course, I knew she was, but it didn't do much to ease my distress. A voice of reason only echoed in the caverns of fear I was too scared to explore. But even if she couldn't alter my lurking worries, sometimes I needed her voice of reason to remind me to tuck the fears away. She slapped my negative thoughts down and chastised me with 'you're not alone, everyone moves at a different pace'.