Lights over the Mediterranean Sea

You can tell the state of my mind by the state of my room. When I'm worried and have too much to think about, it appears as if a tornado has deposited its belongings on my floor. When my mind is at peace, I can see the colour of the carpet again.

For the past week or so, my carpet has been a swirl of every colour but tan. I am in one of those valleys of decision, or perhaps indecision would be a better word. Stuck between fear and terror. Fear of the unknown; terror of committing to living here til I die. Is this a TCK thing? Is it God gently nudging me to flop over the edge of the nest and realize, as I plummet to the stern ground, that as I tentatively spread my wings, His wind will carry me to soaring heights?

I do not know. Hence the room reflective of my troubled mind. Late nights escaping thought. I talk, I listen, I read, I write. Nothing becomes crystal clear. God may give you many options I hear. Do whatever your hand finds to do with all your might and God will bless they say. Make the decision that brings you peace resonates yet still confuses.

I make lists and crunch numbers. Rational logic tells me I can go either way. I counsel with family and trusted friends. They help me see the positive in each choice and remind me of the potential challenges. I reflect on how God spoke in the past and remember that while each choice stretched me, some of them were more painful than grace-filled.

In all honesty, I want to be selfish. I want to leave, explore what is beyond these few acres, and at least know I tried to live life as deeply as I knew how. Yet simultaneously I don't know how to leave. This is all I've known for 10 years. I can get on a plane and travel across oceans yet I don't have the life skills to apply for a job in the real world. This must be the TCK in me. Add a touch of perfection from an ultra conservative environment and it doubles the frozen fear factor. I cannot leave if I do not have a job, a place to live, and the knowledge that it will be okay.

It's been more than 16 years of living in limbo. My liminal place was not between cultures--it was between versions of me. I remember my life before with fondness. I know this has never felt like home. Time alone cannot evoke the feeling of home. Yet with maturity, I know it was never perfect. We created our own popularity, we did not speak the language or understand the culture fully, we learned to portray expected perfection even as we struggled with our brokenness. This is what keeps me questioning even now. Should I be content with well-enough or should I reach out for elusive dreams? I do not know.

I promised them an answer by Monday. In four days I decide my fate.