The Midnight Plan (part 1)
It was midnight, January 2nd, 2020. A cool breeze was coming in through my window. I was twisting a pen nervously in hand, absentmindedly, as I waged war in my head. I was on my bed, finishing a journal entry on my mixed feelings about leaving home, again. My phone rings, and it’s my best friend calling for one last goodbye. I felt my heart tear, the war further intensifying. In a few hours, I would be leaving after only being home from college for two and a half weeks. In a few hours, I was to be driving down to San Diego to get on a plane to Boston. In a few hours, I would be signing on for another semester at this private university, putting me in a paralyzing amount of debt that I feared I would never escape.
I was scared, twisting the pen even more in my hand, glasses falling down my nose. Was this a right decision or a wrong one? Would I be helping or hindering my freedom by signing on to a second semester at this expensive school? How could I carry out my vagabond lifestyle if I was to be carrying such a suffocating amount of debt? Did I even want to go anymore?
My dad, taking up the frame of the door, rapped lightly on the wall. He said he and mom wanted to talk. My legs went a little shaky. Abandoning the pen on my duvet, I followed him downstairs to the dimly lit living room.
On the couch, we debated back and forth the expenses of the school with my life goals. After a career span of 26 years, my dad had lost his job a few weeks prior to my homecoming. Money is tight, in other words. I felt myself on the edge of an abyss. Either I could let myself fall and never know when I would land, or I would recede into certainty and allow the debt to consume me.
Back and forth we went for what felt like years. Out of passion and fear, I was crying. Snot running down my face, eyes bleary with exhaustion from the burden of the decision: stay or go, stay or go? I went back and forth in my head; a game of tennis with the security of knowing where I would be next semester pitted against the uncertainty of where I would end up if I remained. I am a restless creature who simultaneously requires a certain level of stability.
With a quavering lip, I broke down, and I jumped into the abyss. I embraced the uncertainty, though it terrified me to the center of my bones. I chased the freedom of the unknown.
Nearing 1:00 am, I paced the empty streets, legs shaking. My hand could hardly hold the phone still, pavement cold against my calloused and bare feet. I called my boyfriend, Kafka. “I’m not getting on that plane,” is the first phrase out of my mouth. I bite my lip as he comments, level-voiced as always, “You’re wild, Cat.” I continue madly pacing, trying to explain the conversation that had just gone down. A car passes me on the street and I realize I have no pants on. I’m too occupied to care. My legs couldn’t take the shaking anymore. I retreat inside to sit against the back of my front door. The tile on the floor is cool against my slowly numbing legs. I hang up, and call my best friend, who breaks down crying immediately. “I’m just glad you understand now,” she says, reminding me that I can still achieve all I want by staying here. A sense of aching relief blooms in my chest.
I didn’t stay down for long. The decision I made, I knew it was right, because I felt this freedom begin to prick at the tips of my fingers and toes. I picked up my pen off the duvet and wrote a new entry into my journal, scrapping all I had previously said. I danced in my kitchen for twenty minutes, barefoot and hair flying, feeling I could finally breathe right. I laughed at my two fully packed suitcases, not that upset with the knowledge that I would be unpacking my life once again. Immediately I started making plans, blocking out what I could do with my free time between tomorrow and the start of school.
So I talked to Kafka the next day, telling him I needed a new adventure. Within ten minutes we had a plan.