A Death Foreshadowed

I'm a pretty anxious person.

I used to think I wasn't, but there's no use in beating around the bush. I'm paranoid. I worry. I fret about things that cannot possibly happen. I would like to blame this on the state of the country that I live in, what with mass shootings and idiots in charge, but it's probably some actual mental imbalance too.

And that's fine. I cope. I do what I have to do to get through the day. I mean, no one's immune to being afraid of the unknown. Sometimes the unknown can bring great things, and joy, and growth. But it can also bring darkness, and my brain likes to get caught up in the possible bad things that could happen.

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a person who I love very deeply, who admitted that they think I have an old soul. Or, in translation, will not live a long life. Further translation in Jenn's head, whether or not it's what was intended, was: You Are Going To Die Young.

At the time, it was something to laugh off. I immediately told every person I know about this, because it was absurd, but it didn't really sit with me. Until I woke up one day and realized, oh, it totally did sit with me. Not that I generally put a lot of stock in things like that. But somehow that lingered, and it ate at me, and despite the fact that I tried to play it off as a joke there has been a part of me that is afraid. 

Like I said, that was months ago, back when I was planning this trip to Hawaii with my sister that I am currently on. Since then there have been a lot of things. Airplane malfunctions. Volcanic eruptions. I even met one of my favorite celebrities, which is something so joyous and out of place it felt fake.

In any TV show or movie, me dying would have been properly foreshadowed. Anyone watching the stretch that is my life would be able to rewind, say oh yeah, and then move on. Jenn's dead. She got her life high (thanks Jarod Joseph) and now it's over. Goodbye forever.

Good news, though. Life is not a movie!

Just because I am looking at my life through these particular lenses does not mean that my life is going to follow narrative sense. Which, in ways, could be scarier. But whatever.

I told all of this to my therapist at our last session last Tuesday. Her name is Allison and she's one of the coolest people I have ever met.

When I said, "I kind of feel like I'm about to die."

She said, "Well, you kind of are. Aren't you?"

Allison then went on to talk about how my life is in transition. How these old pieces of myself are going to die and I'm going to have to rebuild them. How this generalized anxiety that I had about traveling was anxiety people always have when they go on new trips, but was likely only furthered by the fact that my life here with LVC is about to end too.

When most people go through their young adult life crisis, it's right after they graduate. They're out of school, they have to find a job, etc. They don't know what's next and that brings about a certain time of fear. Mine's just hitting me a little later.

Growing up I always had the next step of my life planned, for the most part. Once I graduated high school, I was going to work at camp. Once I finished my freshman year, I was going to be an RA. Once I graduated college, I was going to do a year of service.

After that? Fuck if I know.

I am finally, after 5ish years, reaching the end of the plan that I set. There were some other things that I'd hoped for, other opportunities that flamed out for one reason or another. So more or less, I've been floundering.

I'm not ever going to return to Mar-Lu-Ridge as a staff member. Never again will I don my RA name tag and circle the halls of Tower D. And soon, the doors will close on the Ella Baker house, never to be opened by another Lutheran volunteer again. The final community in my hierarchy of communities is coming to a close.

And it's not that I'm not still part of these communities. I have a hilarious amount of group Snapchats with camp people, and various group texts. I still keep in contact with a few RAs that I worked with, as well as many residents. And just because I leave Oakland doesn't mean I'm never going to see or talk to this mismatched family again.

But that's it. I'm finally at the end. And... yeah. It feels like a death in so many ways I can't even begin to explain.

This version of Jenn that I have spent 22 long years crafting has to take pieces from everything she's been through and move on. And that's fucking terrifying.

It's not like I don't know some of what's next. I have vague plans. But it's nothing as structured as the past five years of my life has been.

Today is my 23rd birthday.

There are 61 days left of the LVC program.

After that? Well, I'm not on my own, but I'm certainly going to be out of my depths for a little bit. And that's okay. It's scary, but it's okay. It definitely doesn't mean I'm going to die, but Allison was right.

I have to say goodbye to so many things and so many people and so many layers of comfort that I've been carrying for so long. Part of me is dying.

And as cliche as it is, because it's really freaking cliche, part of me is being reborn. Every end is a new beginning. Every time a door closes, another one opens. From the ashes a phoenix rises. Insert cliche analogy here. You get what I'm saying.

So, on this wonderful birthday of mine where I hiked to an old WWII bunker with my sister, and drank a lycheetini, and laid on the beaches of Oahu one last time (for now), I've been reflecting a lot on the pieces of myself that I want to take with me into my next year of life - and the pieces that I need to let die.

That being said, life is a mystery and we never really know what's next. But there's still so much left to see and do, so many new people to meet and new communities to join - and death foreshadowed or not, I'm sticking around to see what comes next.

Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes!