Missing Me

A few years ago, I decided that I wanted to be a diplomat.

I guess it's been almost more than a few years; it was back in 2006. But now at twenty-six years of age, perhaps seven years past really is just 'a few years'. My oldest brother turned thirty a few weeks ago, and my younger brother is twenty-four soon. Is it strange that watching their ages go up makes me feel older than watching my own?

So I decided that I wanted to be a diplomat, and of all places, I wanted to be a diplomat in Asia- South Korea specifically. So I studied Korean in school, got a degree in linguistics, and did all sorts of other stuff to prepare me for this amazing career that I was without a doubt romanticizing into oblivion. I wanted to change the world; I wanted my actions to positively impact everyone around me.

When I finally got there, it wasn't what I expected- 'it' being both South Korea and the world as a whole. I met some amazing people, and also some very bad people. I was lied to and taken advantage of, and I didn't really understand half of what was happening to me. So like my typical, stubborn old self, I put my head down and tried to power through. I needed to succeed, on my terms, and in my own way- through grit and perseverance, just like all my childhood stories always told me.


Well, naturally, that didn't work. I wanted to believe for so long that simply working hard and staying positive would be enough to bring me the sort of grand success that I had always dreamed of. When I discovered that that's really just not how the world operates, I spiraled into a long, drawn-out emotional flinch that last almost a year while I 'recovered' by living at home and working as a barista at a local starbucks. I met some great people there, too, and will always look back at that time with fondness.

I went back to Asia, energized and ready to succeed in a whole different way. Gone again for another year, I found the sort of adventures that I remembered from my last trip and a new sort of sadness. Again, my time there blew up in my face because of some awful people making some really awful decisions, and I left bitter, angry, and broke.

Now, more than six months returned to America and settling into a comfortable and productive place, I look back at the things that are gone, the things I missed while I was 'gone'. Even when I was back in America living at home, it was such a challenging place that I never felt like myself- I never felt content or satisfied, only wanting more and never really reaching out to people like I used to.

I've had these moods before, and now I'm finally beginning to realize the cost of missing myself. I missed my father's wedding to my wonderful stepmother, and I missed my brother's wedding to my new sister-in-law. I missed the pregnancy and new motherhood of a very close friend, and the blossoming of so many people's romantic and professional lives. My family grows larger, and I still feel so separated by my own choices.


I'm growing tired of missing things, of missing me. My grandmother sent me a birthday card recently that reminds me of how excited and happy I was as a kid. Reading it stopped me for a moment because there is not part of growing up that necessitates bitterness and cynicism.

Maturity isn't born from misery, and success doesn't come from asperity. I've always compensated for my lack of discipline with harshness towards both myself and the people around me, but that's never been a good solution.

So let's trade asperity for temperance, and grimness for fortitude, and see if this next leg of the adventure doesn't come with a bit more success than the last.