I am an inveterate planner. I make decisions quickly, after researching all my options. I rarely change my mind, and I never hem and haw. Indecisiveness makes me crazy, and I hate situations that require drawn out negotiations or decisions made by committee.
For the past several weeks, I've been wrestling with the idea of spending a month in New York with my family between Thanksgiving and Christmas. My father is ill, and he won't be getting better, and I've vacillated between wanting to be there to sit on the couch and eat cookies while he's still well enough to perform his favorite pass time, and wanting to stay in San Francisco and participate in the rest of my life. I've talked with my mom and siblings, explored my options for taking time off of work, and considered the sacrifices on both sides.
And all this time I've been hesitating to make plans here, because I just wasn't sure about the future. But I was still waiting for something, some piece of information that would solidify a decision. I don't know precisely what I needed to learn, but a conversation with my mom tonight made things crystal clear. I leave for NY on Nov. 25, and I'll return to San Francisco after Christmas.
And I'm so scared that I'm having trouble breathing. I don't want my dad to be sick. I don't want to have to leave my little apartment. I don't want to go to NY in the miserable winter. I don't want any of this to be happening. I'd like to fall onto the floor and flail around in a temper tantrum, kicking and screaming and pounding my fists on the floor in anger and frustration, very much like the three-year-old version of myself.
The rational adult part of me knows that everything will be fine. I'll be gone about five weeks. I'll be able to work out the logistics at my job and my friends will water my plants and keep an eye on my apartment. Statistically, there's no chance that my home will be burglarized twice in one year, and all my stuff will still be here when I get home.
But the insecure little girl part of me is convinced that I'll be forgotten in my absence, that things will go on without me and my friends will forget and my job will replace me and I'll come back to only the shell of a life I've worked so hard to build and that I really love living.
But more than the anger and the tears and the frustration and the fear and the things I wanted to do here this December, I love my dad, and I want to be sitting on the couch with my parents watching TV with cookies and milk. I am absolutely doing the right thing.
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