This may sound odd and not like something one could actually become addicted to, because, as anyone who has ever moved or helped someone move or listened to someone’s endless story about moving, you know that there is always some moment where you are standing in the middle of your new kitchen, surrounded by boxes, paralyzed with wondering whether the plates or cookware would be better in that cabinet by the sink when you think THIS IS THE SOUL SUCKING WORST! WHY WOULD I EVER DO THIS AGAIN?

But to me, this moment has yet to break my addition. This addiction, as most addictions do, has its roots in my childhood. I had my first move at a mere six weeks, as that is how long it took the US Government to make a passport with my chubby baby face on it so my family could move from California to Japan. This was followed two years later by a move to Maryland, followed quickly by a move to Pittsburgh. That move lasted a solid eight years, before we moved again to Alabama, which lasted a less solid five years, before we moved one more time in the middle of my high school years to Ohio. This was, of course, followed by the obvious move to college and then to LA (to intern) and a year later, to live. So…yeah, I’ve moved a lot. And that doesn’t count house moves in state, which are even more plentiful, or the fact that my parents moved while I was in college, meaning when I go to their house, I’m going somewhere I only lived for four months immediately following college, which, I guess, could count as an additional move. (Note: This is also why I become uncomfortable when asked what my hometown is. Please, never ask me that. You will have to listen to this whole explanation again, and no one wants that.)

A lot of people feel bad for me when they hear this. They lament the fact that I don’t have a real place to go “home” to, whatever that really means, and the fact that I have few life-long friends. My sister and I, however, have found many positives to this. It made moving to college seem routine. It has made me an expert at making friends or just at surviving in situations and parties where I don’t know anyone. It has given me a richness of experiences that people who grew up in one location may not have gotten, and it has given me, not life-long friends, but ridiculous amounts of friends – friends who have each added something completely different and unique to my life and who shaped who I am in 1,000 different tiny ways and have made me, in my opinion anyway, a pretty interesting person who is lucky enough to have friends living almost anywhere I could go.

There is, of course, a downside to this, and not just that whole unpacking-logistics obnoxiousness, and it came up last night as I talked to one of my best friends, Christina, about her impending move to Hawaii. She, having lived in So Cal her whole life, noted that she has never gotten to do a cleanse – a cleanse of routine, a cleanse of friendships and acquaintances and obligations – a shake-up in your life that allows you to work to hold on to those you actually care to hold on to and allows you to easily let the rest slip away without all the social niceties getting in the way. I have done this cleanse many MANY times. I’ve held on tightly to those I wanted and needed to in every move and got out of many toxic and time-wasting relationships, but in a way – and here is the downside- I fear I’ve used this as a crutch. A crutch to run away from complicated problems and relationships that I had no idea how to turn around or get out of – instead of having to stick it out and make tough changes in my life and routine, I simply got to leave and start with a blank slate, taking the best with me and leaving the mess behind.

And I worry I’m doing it again. This year has been rough. I’ve settled into a couple toxic routines and relationships I know I should get out of now…but I find myself not trying to anymore, letting them go on and wallowing in annoyance and anxiety, because, who cares? I’m leaving any way!

And this really worries me, because what if one day, I’m somewhere that I don’t want to leave? And I’m stuck trying to figure out how to change situations and relationships and routines that I desperately want to change or rid myself off, but I fail, because I have no idea how to stay yet move forward.

And because of that, I fear that I’ll just keep moving. Keep saying I’m going on adventures and just quiet that nagging part of my brain that says maybe, just maybe, I’m simply running away.

I gave my school a heads up about getting into grad school, and being the amazing boss and friend she is, my assistant principal told me to take all the time I needed to decide.

But I didn’t decide. Obviously I needed to visit first.

So, I visited New York, went on a tour, and got all my questions answered. I realized I like the neighborhood, and I got all the right answers when I talked to a student in the program. I told myself I liked what I saw, but I still couldn’t decide. Not until I got my financial aid information. Obviously.

Earlier this week I got my financial aid information. I got a scholarship I applied for and work study, but still, seeing how much I would need to take out in loans was (and still continues to be) a bit daunting.

And now I have nothing else left to wait for, which is mildly terrifying.

It’s terrifying because I kept thinking that by waiting for these things – visiting, getting questions answered, finding out about aid – and an answer would magically appear, a choice would be made for me, but it hasn’t happened. Nothing has become more clear.

I know it is because no matter what information I’m given, deciding to leave a job that pays well, that lets me work with people I genuinely like, that makes me feel like I’m doing something important is really difficult, especially when I’m looking at the prospect of student loans and tiny New York apartments.

On the flip side, however, I’m not really happy with my life right now. It isn’t terrible, but it is barely what I want right now and certainly not what I want forever or even the next few years, so shouldn’t I change it? Why should I wait? If I didn’t go now, I’d probably want to go next year or the year after. I never planned to stay at my school for more than four years. Plus, if I don’t do this, what else would I do? There isn’t anything else I want to do more. If what I really want to do is pursue educational theater, why shouldn’t I just suck it up, take the loans and go do something I’ve been saying I want to do for a while now?

When I look at it that way, it seems crazy not to go, but I’m still not totally used to the idea that I can just change my life drastically because I feel like it. It feels weird. It feels like too much power, almost. I’ve also never taken a risk like this. There is no guarantee that I’ll find the kind of job I want or really ANY job after graduating. It’s terrifying to think about.

I’ve also started seriously thinking about how horrible it is going to be to tell my students, who I’ve followed for the past three years, that I won’t be there to see them off their senior year.

But on the other hand…ugh. I think I’m stopping for the night. This could go on for a while.

Man…decisions are hard.

I’m going to let that sink in for a minute, because a year ago, I would’ve laughed at the ridiculousness of that statement. One, because I used to think I would hate yoga, because clearly, it’s just holding poses for long periods of time and “Om-ing”. (I’ve, obviously, since been proven wrong.) I also would’ve laughed, kind of a nervous laugh, but laughed none the less, that a Tuesday could render me into a blubbering, downward-facing mess, but alas, that day has come.

What led to this? Kind of a lot of things. Months of making choices that make me feel vaguely shitty about myself in my personal life. A job that is slowly sucking me dry. A week (well really, months) of waiting to hear back about jobs and from schools and hearing nothing EVEN THOUGH THEY SAID I WOULD HEAR FROM THEM TODAY! (Perhaps I should get back into child’s pose before I start crying again…)

All of this led to last week, when in a rash bout of stress-writing, I submitted an application to be a Stratejoy blogger. I had thought about applying before, but my life was never really a mess (not that all Stratejoy bloggers are a mess…I just would’ve had NOTHING to write about because I was pretty content), and I can’t say I’d actually considered myself in quarter-life crisis mode, but in that flash of stress-writing, I realized….I am now!

Although I wasn’t chosen for this season, I did get some encouraging words from Molly, who is the queen of encouraging words, and thus, I’m trying to appreciate the whole experience, in my infinite hope in the “everything-happens-for-a-reason” philosophy, for pushing me to realize I need to do something about this kind of deep-seeded funk I’ve gotten myself into that has led to this yoga crying. I’ve been trying to baby-step my way out of it for weeks – attempting to drink less (and failing), attempting to eat better (and mildly failing), attempting to go to yoga three times a week (and going, maybe once) – and have yet to have any success. I was attaching hope to the blogging thing, thinking that if I got it, I could blog my way out of the funk by broadcasting all my madness in the hopes that it would go away, but I realize that isn’t really a solution. I can’t wait for someone to hand me a solution through blog comments to all the issues I’ve been dealing with in the past few months. I need to do something about it myself…and just blog about it here – blog comments welcome.

Thanks to all of that and my hitting my version of bottom tonight, I’m starting The Joy Equation tomorrow in hopes that it will help me take some steps this month and beyond to do less of the things that lead to tears falling into my nose as I cry in downward facing dog and more things that make me dance around my room in joy to Broadway songs, which I actually enjoy much more. Surprising, I know. Sadly, I also know that tomorrow, I’ll still be panicked waiting to hear from this job and various grad schools, still be annoyed at kids not doing their homework, still feeling kind of lonely at work and at home, and still counting down the days until June 15th when this year will be over. It’s hard to start to change when so many things are (momentarily) staying the same, but I hope I can at least try, since waiting until June for SOMETHING to give will definitely drive me to more nights like these.

The day was going to be everything I needed – fun, relaxing, and line-free thanks to one of the girlfriend’s Disney disability pass which got us past almost every line in the park. (She assured me, when I mentioned feeling mildly awkward in a line with people in actual, you know, wheelchairs and such, that she needed a doctor’s note to get said pass and that she really did have a legit medial reason for needing it, and with that, I was satisfied.) We frolicked around both Disneyland and California Adventure, hitting up all my favorite rides – Space Mountain, Indiana Jones, Splash Mountain, California Screamin’, Toy Story – in minimal time. It was, to use an overused word, epic. PLUS, I got treated to even more Disneyland trivia thanks to Josh and his years of reading every book about Disneyland, possibly ever. At the beginning of the day, we figured we should Fast Pass the new Star Tours ride, since the line was long, and we weren’t sure how much the pass would help. Thus, we spent all day getting more and more excited for our trip on the new Star Tours (now in 3D!), and finally, around 7, full of corn-dogs and fries (the only acceptable Disneyland dinner, obviously), we headed over to board.

After a quick wait in line (yay, Fast Pass!) we loaded in at Gate B, right in the middle of the car, as Josh always asks to get the best seats on a ride, which I highly recommend; they usually only make you wait like 2 or 3 more minutes and it makes the rides MUCH better. Josh let out one final plea to not get the Pod-Racing version – as every ride on the new Star Tours is differnt and thus there are some much cooler rides possibilities than others – as the Disney employee checked our seat belts and told us to enjoy the ride, adding, as they always do on this ride which is based on things on your Star Tour going horribly wrong, “I’m sure nothing will go wrong!”

We then waited for about 3 minutes during which nothing happened. I don’t know how many of you have been on Star Tours, but basically, it is one of those rides where you sit in a box with 20 other people with a screen in front. As the box moves around, the screen makes you feel like you are soaring around space, enjoying a Star Wars themed adventure. Unfortuantely, after three minutes in said box with nothing happening, I started to get a bit antsy. I’m not super claustrophobic unless I start feeling trapped and in that moment, I definitely started feeling trapped…and started feeling that corn dog. Finally, the ride began – a non pod-racing version, happily – and it was pretty sweet. I was totally getting into the ride as we soared over some crazy planet – clearly, I terribly have never seen Star Wars- when suddenly the ride stopped. We all groaned as the lights came back on, and we sat uncomfortably for another 2 minutes before ride attendants came back in to apologize. At this point, I kind of wanted to just get off and forget the 3D magic, but they assured us that they would just start the ride over. And, I mean..”I’m sure nothing will go wrong!” Again.

Oh…how naive we were. The ride began again. Sort of. It began in that the little box with 20 people started moving, yet the screen, the thing that makes you feel like you are moving and having and adventure and such, never came on, so we remained 20 people being jostled around in a large box…for about 5 minutes. It was, quite frankly, the longest ride I have ever been on. I ended up in the fetal position in my seat, closing my eyes, hoping that it would help me feel like the screen was actually on. Kids behind us were yelling about the malfunction, but apprently the only place Disneyland doesn’t have cameras is on this ride. I felt nauseous and trapped and really really just wanted to get off of this stupid ride. Josh was partiuclarly upset that we were missing the Yoda laden version of the ride, apparently a cool option. All I could think of was not throwing up. It you have never shaken in a box after eating a corn dog covered in a solid inch of fried corn-breading before, then you don;t know what true ride-induced nausea is. I. was. Dying. After about three minutes, we stopped, and I thought I was home free, until Josh assured me that no, this was just the lull before something else crazy happened.

Finally, the second the ride stopped, I literally ran off, as everyone else yelled to stay on the ride, hoping, obviously, that we could go on again. I was having none of it. A Disney employee asked, not knowing what had happened, if I needed medical assistance. I assured her I just needed to sit down as my friends followed me and explained about the problem. Another employee then came and told us that if we went back to our seats, they would be moving us to another gate to do the ride again. I hesistated, but eventually clutched my stomach and walked back into the box of shaking neasuea. By this point, everyone on the ride had bonded through our two rides, and we all collectively clutched our seats as our third attempt started. And of course…we got pod racing. Josh cursed. I was simply happy to have gotten through the ride in one piece with my corn-dog intact.

So, not entirely the relaxing day I was hoping for, but I happily never vomited (small wins!) and the rest of the day was magical. We even ended our day on the train with a delightful conductor who pointed out a secret armadillo in the dinosaur land you ride through between Tomorrowland and the front gate. (What’s that? You didn’t know there was a secret dinosaur exhibit on the train ride? You’re welcome for that magical tid-bit.)

The next day, of course, I was snapped back into reality by rear ending someone, because life can’t all be like Disneyland…well, the non-nausea inducing part of Disneyland.

The problem with this, and with me, really, is that I have terrible “grass is greener” syndrome. Even as I’ve been happy with my life, I’m always seeing the awesome, cool, interesting, and exotic things OTHER people are doing. I see people eating at amazing restaurants, going on hot air balloon rides, creating a ball-pit in their living room, traveling the world, staring their own businesses, decorating adorable apartments, getting married, going to grad school…I see all these things, and I think, THOSE are the types of things I want – the interesting lives with the new, small adventures, with the adorable outfits and the Etsy adorned apartment and the fun, entrepreneurial new job….

Lately, I’ve come to realize, however, that what we see on blogs is SUCH a small slice of people’s lives, and not just any slice, the slice people *choose* to share with the world. We sometimes see the struggles, but always protected and monitored, always as a small chunk of the image. We don’t see the daily grind, the annoying traffic, the family frustrations, the utter heartbreaks, and the boring days. The more bloggers I’ve met in real the life, the more evident this has become to me. As much as we know and share with each other, we don’t know that much *just* from reading blogs. People are doing these fun, cool, adventurous things, but they are also living real life. Just like I am.

With this realization, it has been my mission to think about how my life could (or would) be perceived (if I actually blogged about it on a regular basis, that is), and what people may see in me, when you take away all that daily grind crap.

My blog would show that I love my job, stress and crazy kids and all. It would show that I have a great adorable teacher boyfriend who loves me. It would show that I do go on some crazy adventures, like hitting up Disneyland with these lovely folks and having a heart attack on Space Mountain, like going with my best friend to see Maroon 5 at the Greek theater, and like going with my hilarious co-workers to Drag Bingo in West Hollywood. It would show that I do have some cute Etsy jewelry. I do go to fun restaurants that have been featured on “The Best Thing I ever Ate,” and even though it isn’t super decorated, I do have a pretty sweet apartment.

Someone reading would look at my life and not see the disorganized room, the hour of me in sitting (and screaming) in traffic, the pain of getting up at 5AM, and the lack of decoration in my apartment, but they would see someone who has a pretty good life. And it is definitely the life I want.

Rash decision one: Give up theater, after a life time of dance classes, voice lessons, summer theater camps, and a performing arts high school, after a terrible college program audition (complete with crying phone meltdown to my mother) and a comment from my high school drama/playwriting teacher that my play read more like a sitcom. Instead of pursuing an BFA in Musical Theater (which I could not have done solely due to lack of necessary talent…) or even a BA in Theater Studies, I decided to major in Television and Film with the new dream of writing for Television. It was quasi based on my lifetime love of television, but looking back, it was also quasi reactionary. Even so, that decision shaped the next four years of my life.

Rash decision number two: Apply to be a counselor at a Jewish summer camp. A completely random decision a the time, having never attended camp myself. It came up after a third or forth viewing of the MTV Documentary “Fat Camp” with my friend Nick my second semester of college, during which I talked about how I almost went to sleep away Jew camp as a kid, but chickened out at the last minute. I thought about how I had nothing to do that summer and about how much fun I’d had the summer before working at a Performing Arts Day camp, and how I’d always secretly wished I had just sucked it up and GONE to camp that summer, so I, of course, randomly started researching and applying to Jewish summer camps in the Midwest. I heard back from several, got hired at one, and proceeded to have the best two summers of my life 20 minutes outside of Cleveland, Ohio, which in turn led to both my amazing Australian adventure with my two camp BFF’s and my third rash decision.

Rash decision number three: Apply to Teach for America. After my second semester junior year experience of interning and hating life in LA, I felt lost. My rash decision to major in TV was looking like an epic failure after discovering I didn’t, in fact, enjoy working in television, and I had no idea what to do with my life. The only vague thought I had was to maybe apply to Emerson to study Theater Education and circle back to my original love of theater and my new found (Thanks to Camp!) love of working with kids. I doubted I would get in, however, with my limited camp experience teaching drama one summer and my one vaguely related to education class, the Politics of Education. Then I saw one of those pesky recruitment signs touting the (horrifying) statistics about low-income schools, which reminded me of all the things I learned were broken in the education system in my one education class. I went to an info meeting, told my mom I was thinking about applying, and filled out the application in a day, figuring I would let fate decide, since I didn’t really have faith in my decision making skills at the time. Then a funny thing happened. Fate decided I should be a teacher.

And that’s where I am now. One year into my two-year commitment to TFA, which is when everyone in TFA starts asking “What are you going to do next Spring when you finish?” They, of course, are asking so they can steer you into staying in education, thus fulfilling step two of their two-part plan to close the education gap. And for the first time in a while, I’m not feeling like making a rash decision that will throw me in a completely different direction.

Maybe it’s just because my life is going pretty well right now that I don’t feel like changing it and, eventually one small blip will send me looking at law school applications, but for now, for the first time ever, I’ve drafted out a plan for the next five years of my life, based on where I am now right now. It’s weird to write out where I want to be five years into the future, because for the last five years, my plans have been changing and evolving on a regular basis. There has never been a constant, because I have always felt unsure, like I wasn’t good enough to act or I wasn’t cut-throat enough for Hollywood. It’s kind of scary to feel stable and to plan, because I have a history of planning and then pursuing those plans only to chuck them out the window and do something totally different. I even wrote my college admissions essay about how I did this, and after that, I changed my mind again!

But maybe those rash decisions were all just leading me here, to the place I was supposed to end up. I just had to make those giant, seemingly random leaps because I wasn’t going to get to this place fast enough unless I made mistakes, took on random jobs and left a few things up to fate.

Maybe planning just feels scary, because, as I’ve seen, life doesn’t go according to plan, and I’m just afraid to fail. In the past, as my plans have changed or been only a few months ahead of me, I’ve never technically failed. I’ve gotten everything I’ve really tried to do. I don’t know how I would handle it if I made this plan, went for it with all I had, and then didn’t succeed.

Then again, life is scary and unpredictable, as I’ve seen, and I might fail, but I think I need to focus on the fact that right now, in this moment, I’m so incredibly grateful that I made those decisions, and that life, unpredictably, brought me here to this place where I can make plans for my future, because when I think of what my life would have been had I not made those random, rash decisions, I wouldn’t have all the life experience that is now factoring into my plans. I guess I just have to trust that even if life doesn’t go according to the plan, it can still lead you to a good place.

When I say I’m “going home” for the week, what I really mean is “I’m going to where my parents live.” Right now, that is Delaware. I lived here for a couple months after graduating last year, but I don’t have any friends here. I have no old hang-outs to visit, and I basically hang out with my parents and work-out at the JCC when I come here. It’s not home, except for the idea that home is where my parents live.

When I told people I was coming to Delaware this week, I said I was going home for the week, but being here and in Pittsburgh at a family reunion for the weekend, I realized, I’m not at home. I love my parents more than anything, and emotionally, yes, whenever I am in their house, I will feel some sense of home, but I had a surprising realization last night.

When I fly back to LA on Wednesday, I’ll be going home. I’ll be going to the place I feel like I truly belong at this point in my life. I’ll be going to the little home I’ve created with my best friends in our apartment. I’ll be going to the place where I can grab dinner and a movie with my sister at a moments notice. I’ll be going to the place I can drive around without thinking. I’ll be going to the place I feel comfortable and happy and settled. I’ll be going to the place I can’t imagine moving from any time soon, which is exactly the opposite of how I thought I would ever feel about Los Angeles.

The first time I lived there, I thought it was pretentious and loud and too spread out and too sunny. (Odd, I know.) Now, I’ve embraced and conquered (at times) the traffic. I’ve made amazing friends who always keep me busy when I want to be. I’ve found a job I’m (almost) really good at and that I feel fulfilled in. I’ve learned to love the constant sunny and 70 degree weather. I’ve found an apartment that feels cozy and comfortable and (almost) decorated, and I’ve found (for now) a guy who indulges me in seeing Toy Story 3, takes me to Dodgers games, enjoys hanging out and doing nothing but watching movies and eating pizza, and who doesn’t make me feel nervous or self-conscious or crazy about anything I do, say, or feel.

I’ve had a great weekend with my family, revisiting my favorite childhood theme park, Kennywood, hanging out at a waterpark with my cousins, and dancing to a super local Pittsburgh band at a hotel bar with all my aunts and uncles, but I am really excited to go home.

January

I rang in 2009  in Australia, a trip which I recapped past the point of necessity. After I got home and moved in with my parents (since I technically graduated from school in Jan. 2009), I celebrated the Steelers going to the Superbowl (if only they were on the same path now…) and (shamefully) found myself sitting inside a thick Twilight haze.

February

I started the month by taking my first of many trips to Boston for my best friends birthday. I decided to lose 15 pounds by graduation. (I got to 10, so win?) I hit a wall with temporary unemployment, then quickly was given a big project when my 10 pounds of Teach for America reading material arrived in the mail. I freaked out about being an adult and vlogged for 20SB vlog day (which I’ve since remembered I deleted out of embarrassment.)

March

Things perked up in March when I got my Nikon D90 (AND STARTED WRITING ONLY IN CAPS! Clearly, it was necessary) and immediately replaced television with photography. Then, instead of recapping my trip to LA or my weekend in Annapolis, I mentally decorated my future apartment and made Bakerella’s Cake Pops.

April

I was a little lazy with posting until I had a dilemma in car buying, wavered, then finally bought my beautiful blue 2005 Prius (which I’m still obsessed with. 45 mpg? $20 to fill up? iPod hook-up? Yes, yes, and yes.). I then celebrated Passover with some help from my non-Jewish father, failed at blogging (a common trend, no?), fought about gay marriage with a ridiculous pageant queen, and started a new photoblog (which I also failed at). Then, I finally figured out and listed the things that were causing me to fail at blogging.

May

I headed up to Boston for Senior Breakfast at my college and finally decided I was ready to move on from Boston and from college. (I’m starting to doubt that in retrospect…) Then I headed back to Boston a week later for Senior Week. And, you know, for my official graduation from college. Still bizarre to think about.

June

I was officially hired by a school in LA and decided things were going a little too well. I said good-bye to my parents (and learned later I made my mom cry). I took a little trip to Vegas you may have heard something about. I got to San Diego and hung out with an “old” college friend. I finally arrived in LA and started Teach for America Induction and met my future co-workers on a two day trip back to San Diego.

July

I wrote my first and last edition of quotes from the always stressful, sometimes funny Institute and wrote my first of MANY posts about balancing the stress of teaching with just about everything else in my life, in this case, seeing Harry Potter at midnight, a very important priority in my life.

August

I finished Institute and wished I had time to actually document what was going on in my life (which should be the official theme of this year.) Off-line, I started work and started school. I became a teacher.

September

More of the same. I wanted to blog. I wanted to be a normal person (by making a list of things I was going to do, none of which I did until about 3 months later). I wanted to not be tired all. the. time. Things weren’t bad, but they weren’t (that magic word) balanced.

October

After a major downer of a week, things weren’t bad for the moment.I reflected on my 22nd year as I moved into my 23rd, and I  played a little high low game in order to reflect on the good things that were happening in my life.

November

I took a trip to Berkeley to see American Idiot and came back with a severe case of grass is always greener syndrome. I had a week-off for Thanksgiving and was thankful for my awesome co-workers and my Gilmore Girl-like dinner situation. I then promptly discovered I have no idea what I want out of life. At all. Still awesome.

December

I started attempting to reminisce (and again promptly failed at the attempt), thinking back on my trip to Australia. I wondered if I would ever simply be happy and reflected on how my life right now is my biggest challenge.

So that was my year: a whole lot of boredom and family bonding into a whole lot of working and complaining about balance. I still don’t know what I want. I still don’t know how to feel about where I am right now. I still don’t know where I’ll be in a year and a half when this whole TFA thing ends. In this moment, I’m thinking about scrapping the whole regular job thing and giving this photography thing a go, but that’s just today. I can’t trust I’ll feel this way in a week, but that isn’t today’s discussion. Today is looking back. Tomorrow, I’ll be looking forward. Let’s go, 2010.

I have no idea what I want my life to be like: what kind of person I want to be, what kind of person I want to be with, what kinds of things I want to do, what kinds of places I want to live. No fucking clue.

Awesome.

As I’ve become tired and had a few more bad days teaching – not that they’re all bad or that I’m not happy- I’ve wondered, and I really hate admitting this, but I have wondered if I made the right decision. Is this really what I want to be doing for the next two years? Would I be happier if I’d taken my other proposed path – staying in Boston, studying theater education, possibly working at my old theater job?

This weekend didn’t help. I spent most of the weekend driving back and forth between LA and Berkeley, as my friends and I took a quick road trip to see American Idiot at the Berkeley Repertory Theater. During the show, I almost started crying and not just because the show was phenomenal, which it most definitely was. (If you will be in the New York area next year, get tickets to see it on Broadway! I’m predicting it will be a hit. I mean, Green Day music PLUS the creative team behind Spring Awakening? What’s not to like?)

I got emotional and nostalgic because it reminded me how much I love theater and how much I miss being connected to it. Theater was my life growing up, and I definitely took my ridiculously amazing work-study job at the professional theater connected to my university for granted. I mean, I got free tickets to Broadway-caliber professional shows and got to spend my weekends hanging out with the cast of those shows…as my job. I had conversations about art and life, as well as boggle tournaments, with professional actors from all over the country while doing my homework, and I got paid for it. I mean, I definitely enjoy that my job now is much more challenging and, ultimately, more important that that job was, but I miss being around those kinds of people, I miss being around stage doors, and costume designers, and opening night parties, and overtures. I miss what I experienced this weekend, and I hate living in a town where that experienced is consistently undervalued.

And all that makes me think I’m not yet where I should be. I know I won’t be teaching forever, or at least, not teaching English forever, because theater is too important to me. Eventually, I hope to combine my love of theater with my teaching experience now by getting my Masters like I planned if I hadn’t gotten into TFA, but in this moment, riding the high of live musical theater and my road trip fever, two years feels like forever to be away from that world….and I keep wondering if I made the right call.