2019 in Three Acts — story strathman

Intro: Illumination

Best year of my life?

I can sum up the year with the word effortless, despite the fact that it also managed to be one of my most challenging. It was definitely not easy. It was definitely a lot of fun.

It’s hard for me to separate things from each other. I rarely draw hard lines; colors blur, feelings mix, and everything affects everything else. Though this means I tend to live viscerally and feel intensely (which I’ve concluded after much reflection is an overall positive thing, though horrifically inconvenient at certain times), it also means that life can be extra messy. This has been a messy, free-flowing year. But mess isn’t always a bad thing.

I spent three weeks of this year in Findlay, one week on the west coast, and six months traveling on and off through New Zealand – staying in hostels, road tripping and camping. Then I spent five months staying put in a new place on the South Island and deciding to work towards something new. All types of living have illuminated different parts of me.

A theme of this year was bringing things into the light, drudging up pieces of me that never had a chance in the world of the similar day-to-day that I’d lived in before. Though I’ve been lowkey traveling and taking trips for the last seven years, a complete uprooting and leaving to a much more permanent “far away” is a new league for me. It’s going to take more than just a few months to come to terms with all of it, though I can confidently say that I’ve “found myself” this year, or at least a version of me that feels closest to the truth.

I left behind a lot I didn’t want to carry with me anymore. I’ve learned that leaving home completely can help a lot with the separation that we need from the past. I’ve also learned that we can’t run away from all of our problems, though.

Here is my messy retelling of 2019.

Act One: Paradise

I don’t think I ever talked about my going away party.

I wasn’t going to have one at first. I’m very introverted and sometimes I truly feel like only about three people actually like me. I didn’t realize that when you spend your whole life in a place and you’re a decent person, people are sad to see you go.

Around the beginning of December 2018, I realized that a goodbye party was probably a nice thing to have; it would give me a chance to connect with those I might not ever see again and say thank you. I knew it would take a lot out of me. I was worried that nobody would show up.

I decided to have it at a bar in Findlay called Alexandria’s. My Findlay people know Alexandria’s. It’s the one bar in Findlay with a little bit of atmosphere, the bar that the Millennials and Gen X’s like. All the Marathon Boys (and Ladies) hang out there after work. It’s all hardwood, tap beers, pool and shuffleboard tables. It’s got a nice vibe for Findlay.

When I called to book a couple of tables, they asked me about how many people would be showing up. I said I wasn’t sure, twenty or so had RSVP’d yes or maybe on the Facebook invite I sent out. When I got there, I’ll never forget, my friend Josh from work was the first person to arrive.

After that, the whole thing became this beautiful, beautiful blur.

The sun went down, people finished work, some drove from out of town. They just kept showing up all evening long. It was like the cast of the first twenty-three years of my life were all together. Old bosses, old coworkers, old friends, cousins, aunts and uncles. Current coworkers, new friends, school friends. Each person made me feel so fucking loved and I realized that a lot more than just three people liked me.

I think I drank a lot, but I was also so high on all of the positive energy and love that everyone brought into that bar with them that I was viscerally aware and happy and present the entire time. I lost my voice at the end of the night from talking and laughing so much. There were balloons, cards with well-wishes and, I’ll admit it, it made me a bit sad to think that I was going to leave Findlay, because I realized then that it also meant leaving all of these people. Even though I’d been planning my escape for some time now and I never once really doubted my decision, the second-guesses always try to creep in at the very last moment.

I’d spent a lot of my time and energy growing up talking shit about Findlay Ohio. I’m that stereotypical small-town girl who always dreamed of an exciting life. It’s way too easy to blame your hometown for problems that are just the problems of a person who is ready to take the leap and just has to wait a bit. I’ve realized that, even though I’ll never live there again, Findlay isn’t that bad, mainly because Findlay brought a lot of lovely people into my life.

Some wonder why people like me leave a place where I’ve got such a “good thing going.” Their questions are valid; I had a really good community, a decent job and an adorable apartment with my best friend and my cat as perfect roommates. I lived a five-minute walk from my favorite coffee shop and most of my family was within a 2-hour drive.

After a lot of time away, I’ve concluded that there are certain things you can’t learn about yourself if you never go and live somewhere new. Even if you end up coming back, I think it’s important for everyone to take the step away at some point and give it a try. For a lot of people that happens when they go off to college or start a new job, but sometimes our hometowns are really easy to get stuck in. We can’t sit and wait for these opportunities for mega change and growth; we have to make them happen ourselves.

Thank you thank you thank you to every single person who cared about me enough to drive to Alexandria’s on a random Friday in cold and snowy northwest Ohio January. That night is one that I think about often. I’ll never have all of those people in the same place ever again. The closure it provided neatly wrapped up that first part of my life and sent me gently on my way.

The first four months in New Zealand were spent peeling back layers and diving fully into the newness of every turn. I was naïve, innocent, filled with an insatiable curiosity. I talked to everyone, I loved everyone. I wanted to dig out the depths of who I felt I really was and hold it out to everyone I met with open hands.

I had the energy and inquisitiveness of a child when I first came to New Zealand. It was this shiny new world and all I wanted to do was play. The first month was just me goofing around; Meeting people and immediately trusting them and traveling with them. Driving from beach to beach and not knowing where I would sleep that night. Everything was guided by feelings.

“Shotgun” by George Ezra seemed to be everyone’s soundtrack to everything. I used all the data on my phone to watch Shane Dawson’s newest series from my tent. I ate fish and chips all the time and let myself get sunburned more than I should have.

When I made it to Rotorua I let myself do whatever I wanted. It was pretty great. Some people stay in this stage of life longer than other people, but I only needed a couple months of it, really. It was harmless. I just wanted to play for a while.

My time in Rotorua brought me incredible friends. Some of the best connections I’ve made this year were made during the three and a half months that I lived in that town. They showed me that community can be created anywhere. It was the first home I’d felt since leaving mine.

All of that exploration unearthed the more troublesome parts of me, too; the parts I’d been consciously ignoring for the past several years by disappearing into familiarity and routine. During the first part of this year I made an inward promise to begin seriously working on understanding those troublesome parts. I was dealing with a lot.

It’s pretty amazing to me that when I asked the universe very specifically for help and something that I needed, it gave it to me. The individuals I met under every random circumstance ended up healing me in ways that they probably don’t even realize. Thank you to everyone I met during my time in Rotorua, even if our paths only crossed for a day.

Eventually I knew I needed to move on.

I’d spent a lot of time putting myself out there, being the person who started conversations and made the first move and saying “yes” far more often than “no.” It paid off, but also took a lot of energy. I didn’t have a lot of hard times in Rotorua apart from one week in May when I was really sick and feeling very sorry for myself. It was nice to go such a long stretch without anxiety and loneliness creeping up around me as they so often do. Those hot springs really did a lot for me.

Act 2: Progress

Here’s the thing about traveling/moving around a lot/being in situations where people come and go all the time: you learn to take things for what they are. Each person, place and moment are brief and bright flashes of light. They shine and then they are gone. Basically, be careful about letting yourself get attached.

For example:

The hostel you’re living in: make it home, but don’t get too settled – you’re going to leave soon.

The people you’ve been hanging out with for the past week: be open and share yourself with them but be prepared to miss them since they’re going to leave town tomorrow.

The job you’re working right now: no need to make it your life, because you’re only there for a couple of months.

That cute person you went on a date with: don’t crush too hard on them, because they’re also traveling and you’re going in different directions.

Or, do the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of all of those things and break your own heart over and over, that’s what I did.

I suppose the lesson hiding in all of this is something along the lines of managing expectations or understanding the place that these friends and locations have in the timeline of your life. Five days can feel like a month or it can feel like two seconds depending on the person you’re with, but if it’s all you have it’s what you have to work with. This is difficult to navigate. I think it’s harder as someone traveling alone since I never had anyone to fall back on for the depth of connection that I require, so I needed these authentic connections with strangers. And I wanted to make these connections – that’s a huge part of this whole traveling thing.

I could’ve kept people at more of an arm’s length, but I hate doing that. I could’ve had fun part-time friends and saved the deeper relationships for later on when I was more settled. But what’s the point of traveling if it’s not to get lost in the minds and souls of the people you meet along the way?

Do you really think I’m all the way over here to just look at mountains?

I don’t regret breaking my own heart. I don’t regret opening myself up, even though I’ve said a lot of goodbyes over this year.

And all of this isn’t to say that that when you travel you never make lasting friendships; I’ve met people that I’m pretty certain will remain in my life in some capacity for many years to come.

That’s worth the heartbreak any day.

I left Rotorua in early June, camped with my friends Corra and Sebastien for a few days and then met up with Rachel to embark on our MEGA NZ ROAD TRIP, as you know if you’ve read this blog post.

Then, if you recall this post, I flew to Japan for two weeks because why not?

I returned to New Zealand and was so happy at how much it felt like coming home. Then I realized that I didn’t have a community anymore and I had to build from the bottom up once again. This was a bit intimidating – I seemed to have forgotten that I’d already been doing this for the past six months, shouldn’t it be easy to do it again?

I’d gotten comfortable with bouncing around from place to place with lots of fun, high-energy people and I had a bit more trouble than I’d anticipated trying to slide back into kicking it on my own again.

I found a job, moved to Hanmer Springs and settled into Trying to Make It Work, which for that first month, I really didn’t think I could.

I’ve mentioned anxiety a lot in my posts this year. I want to clarify that I’m not just throwing the word around, it’s a real part of me. I had a good handle on it for the first half of the year (it’s easier for me to function in places with lots of distraction and new-ness), but Hanmer Springs was a bit of a challenge at first.

I could go into further detail here: I could tell you what all of the things were that were rattling around my head at the time, the reasons I cried so much and why I have a word document on my computer with about ten life plans that I could follow if staying in New Zealand didn’t work out for some reason. But I don’t really want to do that. Some things I just want to hold in my own heart and brain.

The only relevant thing I’ll mention is that it was at this point that I solidified an idea that I’d been mulling over for a few months: I wanted to remain in New Zealand for another year. The job that I found in Hanmer Springs is my best chance. I’m still waiting for confirmation on my work visa being granted, but I’m optimistic that my time here isn’t finished yet.

(I like to think of Hanmer Springs as a mutually-beneficial arranged marriage where the two parties ended up actually falling in love.)

I started my time in Hanmer Springs by trying to make it work, then all of a sudden it breathed a new life into me and everything became effortless once again. The first few months of struggle and heartache have been giving way to the kind of rejuvenating peace that I’ve been searching for, and the people here are just the best. And so are the mountains.

I learned over the next part of this year, the part that included the road trips with good friends, the brief sojourn to Tokyo and the return to this now-familiar country I am living in, that when you want something, you just gotta go for it.

It’s not going to work to always just sit back and let life unfold. That was how I used to operate. Now I know that when you feel deep in your gut that you want something, you should just go ahead and ask for it.

By that same token, though, I’ve also learned that at a certain point you need to become good at understanding when you’ve put forth the correct amount of effort, and when it’s time to take a step back and wait. There are a few things I want for 2020. Just a few. I’ve done my best and given all the time, energy and money that I can to make them happen. I’ve done the asking and now I’m waiting for my answers.

Waiting is hard for me, especially when the outcome of all of the plans I’ve put into place seems so sweet and so close and more possible than I ever used to imagine. I’m trying my best for the last month that I have my working holiday visa to step back, relax and enjoy my days.

Please cross your fingers for me.

Part 3: Pause

You can tell by reading my end of year post from last year that I’d just come to a place of deep peace. I remember when I wrote it that I couldn’t even begin to imagine what this year would look like. It excited me. I’m happy with the outcome.

2018 was the year I finally started towards creating a life that was fully mine. 2019 was when I put all of that into action. I now have that life.

I didn’t know last year what I would be doing at the end of this one, and I didn’t have any future plans. I’d been feeling intense pressure to have the answers and to have it all figured out but now I don’t.

The funny thing is though, I do have some answers; I did find out things about myself that I’d been wondering about. For once I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be; I know what I want to do with my life, and this bit of time right now is completely on that track.

If you’d asked me a year ago, I would have honestly said that I thought I would never have those feelings of assurance and focus. I thought I was doomed to be an aimless wanderer, but as long as it was intentional in its aimlessness I could pass it off as some type of success. I don’t feel like that anymore; I know that my existence is enough.

But like I said, I do have some specific and strategic goals now. I know what I want in the next five to ten years and my ideas are achievable. This might not seem like a lot of some people, but this is absolutely groundbreaking for me and it gives me so much happiness.

A calm place isn’t a bad place. A small town doesn’t equal small mindedness. I think a lot of the conflict I had with Hanmer Springs at the beginning was that I thought that I was failing if I chose to briefly settle down in another small town. But I’m not in Ohio anymore; thank god that everything is very different now.

My boss says that he believes we all knew each other in our past lives, and we are drawn to the people we’re drawn to in this current life because we were connected in some way before. I like that idea; the thought that the reason some people feel so close so quickly, or the times people just seem to get you like no one else, happen because you’ve been doing it over and over for many lifetimes. The random coincidences and strange circumstances for meeting people that are so important to you were always destined. I like thinking that we’ve all been dancing around each other for thousands of years and none of us are strangers.

I was listening to a podcast the other day and the man who was being interviewed is the same Meyers-Briggs personality type as myself (INFP). He was speaking about the way he approaches the important things in his life. The interviewer called him “determined.” He replied by asking: “Am I determined or obsessive?” And that is the top thing of 2019 that I related to the hardest.

I had a really nice year. It was a year of paradoxes and two opposites being true at the same time. Everything that happened this year mattered so much because of the growing I did, and yet at the same time none of it really mattered at all, because it was a lot of just goofing around. It was intentional and it was aimless. It was growing and maturing and also finding that childlike curiosity once again. As I said earlier, it wasn’t easy, but it was effortless.

This year has done exactly what I intended: allowed me to take a step back and really think about how I want to shape my life. I’ve uncovered more about myself (which is always the goal), and I’m beginning to understand that life can be good in lots of places. You’ll always be missing something, though. That kind of deep sadness is comforting to me in a weird way; I don’t mind that I can’t have it all. It makes me appreciate everything I do have all the more.