Yesterday I was smacked with an anxiety I haven’t felt in a few weeks – an overwhelming desire for something comfortable and familiar.
I suddenly craved an evening with Ted at The Outpost in Lansing, MI – the log cabin bar we used to frequent alone or with cast and our coworkers over three years ago, after working a long day of shows at the theatre. It had cold beer, fantastic pizza that I still get a hankering for, and a rustic casual atmosphere that we loved. It was also our first date. I would have given anything to be there again with Ted last night. Comfortable, relaxed, at home.
I also craved the one thing in this wild world full of changes that seemed the most familiar to me over the past four months – a beach. All summer while teaching at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp I was just a 15-minute drive from the beach. Whenever I wanted, I’d finish my last choreography session or rehearsal of the day, grab a good book, throw on my suit and some sunglasses, hop in the car, roll down the windows, and just GO. I liked the sound of the water lapping, the sun and the sand and the seagulls. I liked the peace and the feeling of being so small. Isn’t it crazy how everything has changed so much in the past four months that the most comforting and familiar place I can think of is a beach I called home for only 6 short weeks? So after work I got in the car and just drove until I was at a beach. As soon as I stepped out of the car there was an instant feeling of relief – I could breathe again. And all I wanted was to be sitting on a blanket on this beach, wrapped in a cozy sweatshirt, beside a hand-built bonfire in the sand, roasting s’mores with my friends.
It’s not that I don’t love it here…because I do. Sometimes, like we all do from time to time, I just miss the things that helped make me who I am. The things that are familiar and make me feel comfortable and content.
