I waved a hand between us, trying to erase any first impression he might have had from the air. "It's not much; it's just a place to hang my hat right now, "I blurted out.
"Well, why haven't you made more of it?" Andrew asked.
"It's just a place to hold me over for right now. I mean, I don't really see any sense in putting the money and effort into putting lipstick on this pig," I told him.
"Then how do you expect you will find anything permanent in your life?"
I took extra time to hang up my jacket and my hat - something I never usually do when I am alone - to digest what Andrew had said. If I don't put down roots anywhere, then how can I expect to grow, to blossom? I knew this was just a way station for me, and I didn't want to spend any more time here than I had to before moving on to the next stage of my life. But without knowing what that stage was, I had no way of knowing how long I would be here. Why not settle down and live here, really live, for as long as I have to be here, rather than exist out of boxes and suitcases and take-out cartons?
"Sit," I said, coming back around the wall from the closet. Andrew raised an eyebrow at me in that way that I always wished I could; then he smiled and fell into the futon.
"See, here's the thing. This is the thing." I stammered for a start. This would be so much simpler on paper or in an instant message, I told myself. "I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. And I am 37 years old. It feels like too many doors have closed, and that each decision I make is magnified, because another error at this stage in my life leaves me with that much less time to make it right, to get back on course." Andrew sighed. He'd read or heard all of this before.
"So I've become paralyzed by inaction, and I find it far too easy to just float along doing what I have been, and letting life live me instead of the other way around."
Andrew restrained his frustration. "We've been here before. I want to support you, but I also want to see that you are committed to action."
"Well, why haven't you made more of it?" Andrew asked.
"It's just a place to hold me over for right now. I mean, I don't really see any sense in putting the money and effort into putting lipstick on this pig," I told him.
"Then how do you expect you will find anything permanent in your life?"
I took extra time to hang up my jacket and my hat - something I never usually do when I am alone - to digest what Andrew had said. If I don't put down roots anywhere, then how can I expect to grow, to blossom? I knew this was just a way station for me, and I didn't want to spend any more time here than I had to before moving on to the next stage of my life. But without knowing what that stage was, I had no way of knowing how long I would be here. Why not settle down and live here, really live, for as long as I have to be here, rather than exist out of boxes and suitcases and take-out cartons?
"Sit," I said, coming back around the wall from the closet. Andrew raised an eyebrow at me in that way that I always wished I could; then he smiled and fell into the futon.
"See, here's the thing. This is the thing." I stammered for a start. This would be so much simpler on paper or in an instant message, I told myself. "I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. And I am 37 years old. It feels like too many doors have closed, and that each decision I make is magnified, because another error at this stage in my life leaves me with that much less time to make it right, to get back on course." Andrew sighed. He'd read or heard all of this before.
"So I've become paralyzed by inaction, and I find it far too easy to just float along doing what I have been, and letting life live me instead of the other way around."
Andrew restrained his frustration. "We've been here before. I want to support you, but I also want to see that you are committed to action."
