a toss up

On February 3, 1959, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper were killed in a plane crash.
Initially, Holly was set to fly, as usual, with his back-up band: Waylon Jennings and Tommy Allsup. The accompanying acts (Valens and the Bopper) were scheduled to take a bus on to the next stop in Minnesota. However, because Richardson (the Bopper) had been ill and was not up for a lengthy bus ride, Jennings relinquished his place on the three-seater plane. Valens and Allsup determined who would get the final doomed seat by flipping a coin.
In the mid-90’s Peter Boyle starred in a classic episode of the X-Files entitled “Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose,” in which he played a man obsessed with this tragic story. He commented, far more eloquently than I, on the truly infinite number of factors that had to align in order to produce such a moment: a moment in which Ritchie Valens life and death were reduced to merely two sides of a flipping coin.
We’ve all experienced it. We go back inside for our forgotten car keys and narrowly miss a fatal accident ten minutes later. It makes us wonder, if only for a minute (lest we lose our minds altogether), what sort of forces are at play in our lives. Is it all just luck and chance? Do we really have anything to do with it? Do the stars just simply align, pulling us into place like marionettes?

Having been forced (and choosing) to do a lot of self-reflection in recent months, I have reached a few conclusions. But most things have simply become more and more indefinite.
I often find myself overcome by emotions that seem to ambush me and leave just as quickly. I frequently find myself standing, utterly alone in the living room and feeling disheartened. Alone. Achingly sad. Lost.
As I always do when I feel this way, I begin looking for something more/different/better/away from here.
When Courtney and I separated, one of my first thoughts was “if I’m still single in the summer, I’m going into the Peace Corps.” Read: if I’m still feeling as unattached as I am now, I’m running.
Of course other options come into play. I miss school. I’d like to return for my doctorate. My therapist suggested Doctors without Borders. They employ therapists and require a 6-12 month commitment instead of a 24-month one… but also require prior out-of-country helping experience, which I don’t have. All things that I want to do.

I had a rash thought: I’ll flip a coin. Heads I go back to school, tails I leave the country. I considered this for a bit, wondering if I could actually commit to following through with whatever path the universe handed me. Or if I would just keep flipping until I got the answer I wanted.
If only Richie Valens had had that opportunity.

The truth is, either heads or tails would make me a bit sad.
On one side, I would be leaving.
And, with my life and the lives of my friends being what they are at this time and place, I realize that if I were to disappear and return in two years… everyone I know would likely be gone. Nearly all my friends are on the verge of some great transition- graduating from school, applying to school, getting married, etc. I think about the time and effort I’ve put into making Boston my home and I feel wistful. I feel homesick before I’ve ever even left.
And then I think about how utterly disconnected from humanity I still feel. How alone I feel, even after have done all this work. And I feel discouraged. And like starting over.
My therapist was not supportive of my Peace Corps idea. She agreed that the work would be great for me, but “I think you underestimate how lonely you would be.”
“I think you underestimate how lonely I’ve always been,” I said.

On paper I’m the ideal candidate, really. I want nothing more than to devote my life to learning about the world and helping others. I have no ties- family, relationship, pet, or other. And the Peace Corps agreed. I applied and they said, “can you leave in three months?” Admittedly, this startled me a bit. I ended up needing more time to sort out debts, and my relationship with Courtney was just beginning.

I’m well aware of how terrible it sounds to make “if I’m single” even a factor in this equation. It sounds like some sort of personal ultimatum, or… I don’t know what it sounds like, but it smacks of desperation.
The truth is, if I were to make a list of all of the things I want for my life, first and foremost would be finding “the one for me.” Yes, it’s cliché. It feels distastefully sugary to say sometimes, but I know that if I met someone who I thought there was even a slim chance of something real with, I wouldn’t give that up. No matter what.
It’s maddening because love is the one thing I can’t *make* happen. I can’t control whether I find her, or whether she even exists. I can control traveling the world and working the jobs I want, living the places I want to live and acquiring all the things I want to acquire. But I can’t control what’s #1 on my list.
But I suppose that’s also why I would never walk away from a chance to have love: because you can’t know when or if the next one will come. With the rest of my desires, I can and will make my own opportunities. With love, I’m at the whim of the universe.

On the other side of the coin, I can continue to better myself in the U.S. of A, furthering my education and making a better life for myself and family down the road. It's not like there aren't millions of opportunities for community service here. But then fear creeps in. Fear that, honestly, what I’m hanging around waiting for might not be out there. Yes I’m a hopeless romantic, but I must be realistic and acknowledge that there is a chance I may never meet her. It's possible.

And it would be twice the tragedy if in ten years, at age 38 I had neither found my partner nor done the things I dream of doing. I hadn’t traveled or humbled myself to others less fortunate than I. I hadn’t opened up my heart and pushed my boundaries and intellect to the brink, facing everything that feels uncomfortable and scary by assimilating into completely foreign worlds. Ideally, I do this with someone. I have a love, a partner there with me who is just as excited to explore these things as I am.
I have a home that I bring with me.

Sometimes it seems that both my heart and head agree that I can’t wait. Sitting and waiting for I-don’t-know-what has gotten me nothing but older. And these days, I’m not even sure I would know what I’m waiting for if I saw it. My brain tells me to live my life, go after what I want, and let everything else come when and if it comes. But it’s so hard to relinquish that control- even when it is a facade.
Whether I’m here or I’m far, far way, I’ve focused my life on trying to give as much as I can to others, and trying to bring as much good as I can into the world. That won’t change. One thing I have realized about myself in recent years is that it’s no longer critical for me to be famous or “important.” I just want to help.

When I boil down my job and all my training, my life’s work is startlingly simple: I sit with others while they hurt.
This is noble enough I suppose, and I am good enough at it. It certainly serves a purpose and is much-needed. There is so, so much pain in this world. But I think I’ll always be someone who expects more from myself. More accomplishment, more contribution, more purpose, more satisfaction. Do I flip a coin and take off running, driven full-speed in that way that I’ve been known to do? Or do I wait for the future to happen, trusting that the universe has the flipping coin?

Tonight I just sit with my uncomfortable expectations of “more,” looking at a long and unfulfilled bucket list, praying for more clarity.