Starting Over

I've spent the last few days with a good friend who's about to start law school. In fact, he should be preparing to be oriented right about now, reading his first cases, underlining issues and rules and holdings. Scribbling in margins and wondering why the hell legal writing has to be so . . . bad. He's my age, 30, and we're both starting over. And as happy as I am in the mountains, as much as I love the peace and the quiet, and the nothing I have to do all day but help my uncle put up siding and medicate the five kittens now living in my laundry room, and as much as I enjoy chatting with my neigbors about county politics, and reading mysteries and eating cinnamon rolls bought from the local bakery where they're starting to recognize me, I can't help but feel truly, deeply, greenly, envious of him.

Because he has a plan. And a purpose. For the next three years he'll have texts to read and outlines to write, exams to prepare for and take. He'll have syllabuses to follow and scheduled vacations. And at the end of it he'll have accomplished something. And as much as he may not know now where he'll want to go when those three years are up, for now, in the longish short term, he's on track. And I'm not. I'm adrift. And pretty soon, in a few hours, my month of constant houseguests will end and I'll have my house to myself. I'll be alone. It will be quiet. And maybe I'll start thinking about what I'm drifting toward. And whether it's time to pick a paddle, and a current. Maybe not. Maybe I'll be able to find enough distractions to keep me from thinking those scary, lonely thoughts. Maybe I'll play with the cats, and stack firewood, and finally (FINALLY) unpack, and I'll be able to keep enjoying the quiet and the nothing to do for awhile longer. But now, right this minute, I'm envious. Because he's starting, and really, despite the title of this post, I'm idling.