I finished this book a while ago and cannot stop raving about it. I have recommended it to anyone who has asked (or even those who have not) for a book recommendation. The writing is simply excellent. Frank Bruni can tell a story that would make anyone want to pull up a chair and listen for hours on end. He makes you want to figure out where he hangs out so you can stare at him until he'll talk to you (hypothetically, of course).
When I finished Born Round, I felt incredibly sad it was over. I wanted to know more (the obvious sign of an excellent story). As a book junkie, my only course of action was to promptly hop on amazon.com to send a sample of Elizabeth Gilbert's new book, Committed to my Kindle (the greatest invention since the ipod).
All of a sudden, I realized, I am finding myself gravatating towards memoirs, which are generally not my normal book choice. Given a week of sleeplessness (sorry Seth, I know I kept you up all week), I started pondering why I am so interested in everyone else's stories right now. My conclusion: not knowing where I am going to live/work in two years is apparently on my mind and I am curious how other people choose their paths in life.
One large caveat to this late night worrying: I know I am lucky. I realized that most people do not have options like this. Seth and I are basically free to move anywhere we want once my job assignment has ended. Even more so, I have someone, my best friend and the man I love, to figure this out with me. I really have no formal ties to New York City (other than a deep rooted love affair with this city which would pain me to break and some amazing friends who would be forced to IM with me). But despite repeating this lucky mantra over and over, that tiny voice that goes off in the back of my head at extremely inopportune times (like 2AM) is actually saying "How on earth could I find myself, at 33, facing such a daunting and scary, but liberating choice? Where does one start? And to that end, shouldn't I know this already?"
Don't get me wrong, part of me revels in the idea of laying a map of the world on the floor of my apartment and throwing a dart (hoping this method does not require a move to the middle of the Indian Ocean or North Dakota) to decide my next move. Another part of me wants to curl up in my current apartment and never leave.
Anyone who knows me well will chuckle as they read this, as I have been talking ad nauseum about this very predicament for quite some time. Those who I ask have offered me some welcomed pieces of advice. Funny enough though, for each piece of advice I hear, more often than not, it conflicts with a previous piece of advice. That can only be the universe's funny way of saying "tough shit woman, figure it out for yourself."
The closest to this feeling I have had in the past was when I graduated college. Back then though, in addition to having no real path and facing a multitude of options, I really didn't know who I was. Upon reflection, it all worked out then. So that must mean, that this will too.
One favor, please. Remind me over the next year of exploration when I look overwhelmed, that, in two years from now, I'll be laughing at how I didn't think I knew where I was going, when in fact, I really did.
