Picking out the raisins

I have been feeling so utterly indifferent to my change in surroundings that I probably should have expected an emotional overflow at some point. But when I sat down to write in my journal last night, I didn’t really think I would break down the way I did.

Of course, I knew before I began that it was not going to be a happy journal entry—in fact, I was writing because I was hoping that getting thoughts out on paper would also help get them out of my mind. Still, there’s always the risk that writing down unhappy thoughts will solidify them, or worse, remind me of more unhappy thoughts and thereby cause things to spiral out of control. That’s kind of what happened. But I still think I needed it.

I am admitting up front that this is a wallowing-in-my-own-misery blog entry, so skip to the end if you want to read the happy thoughts (because I wouldn’t be writing if there wasn’t a happy ending).

I am homesick. This is normal. It happens every time I make a major change, and I have experienced enough major changes to know that I must go through a necessary (and usually short) mourning period before I can begin attaching myself to somewhere new. Right now, I miss Provo and BYU, I miss people and places and the grounded feeling that I know only existed in retrospect. Everything just feels off-balance and for the moment I’m not quite sure what to do to get the balance back. I am feeling hopelessly aware of all my shortcomings and of all the ways I have failed to change myself in the past, leaving little hope for the future. So I feel worried about the future, both distant and immediate. I feel disconnected from people, independent, and too unwilling not to be independent.

When I get in these moods (they’re rare, but I don’t usually realize this when I’m in the midst of them), I tend to become overly sensitive, though not openly so. Last night I felt like I was a bad roommate because I didn’t have a lot to say when I came home from school. I felt like a bad student because I was more interested in running and reading (for pleasure) and writing and trying to find a piano to rent and organizing my room and planning meals to cook, than I was in doing my reading for class. I felt guilty about little things, like neglecting people I really like on my Blue Beta “first impressions” list (only because I honestly couldn’t remember what first caught my eye) or failing to call a particular friend or unintentionally saying something I probably ought not to have said several weeks ago or thinking negative thoughts about someone I love. I felt sad listening to the CDs that my brother and my mom put together for me, and sad looking at pictures on my digital camera, and sad remembering my last few days in Provo.

Other than an overall darkish feeling, one of the biggest problems I’m having is that I’m just not feeling excited about my program, which is of course the reason I am here in the first place. In fact, I’m just not feeling excited about math education in general. I keep wondering what the point is. I can’t see why the research project I’ve been placed on is of any real non-theoretical value in the long run (and as I’ve said before this would be okay if I weren’t in a field that was supposed to be centered on practical issues). And I don’t jump for joy at the thought of taking classes on the math curriculum and on learning math and on teaching math. I certainly don’t jump for joy at the thought of doing research. In fact, thinking about all this makes me feel slightly sick. That’s not how I’m supposed to feel if I’m about to get my doctorate. I have to remind myself that it’s only been a week, that I’m still getting my bearings and adjusting to a new atmosphere, and most importantly that I am supposed to be here. I know that. Or I knew it and it’s something I can believe until I know it again.

Last night, after I had collected myself and wiped away the tears and closed my journal, I tried calling four different people back in Utah, something that is very unusual for me since I am not normally a phone person—perhaps I’ll discover that when I live away from the people who mean the most to me I will become more of a phone person. Not one of them answered. So I chatted a couple minutes with my friend’s husband, and left messages with the other three, messages that sounded a lot more cheerful than I felt. I contemplated calling my former roommate who is also not a telephone person (though I’m absolutely certain she wouldn’t have objected to talking to me if she was around), but then I realized how late it was and how much later a conversation might keep me up, and I knew that sleep was probably what I needed most at that point.

Amazingly, even without actually reaching anyone, I felt an awful lot better after leaving the messages. Just knowing that there were people I could call, that there were people I felt comfortable calling, made me happy and hopeful. So I opened up my journal again and wrote that. And then I listed everything I could think of that had made me happy that day and surprised myself by how much I was able to write (I ought to make a habit of doing this).

And although I’ve still felt homesick and uncomfortable all day today, it’s been bearable. I ran around campus for my morning run and discovered the medical school, which is lovely, and obviously receives more funding than the school of education. I had apple apricot sauce from Trader Joe’s with my breakfast (Trader Joe’s is some compensation for the disappointing Great Harvest here in town). I hunted down the running stores on my way to rent a piano and discovered that they are both within walking distance from my apartment. I had to attend an agonizingly long research meeting, but someone brought Chinese pineapple cakes that were delicious. I read a wonderful compliment from Uffish Thought right before I went home and had a nice, lively discussion with my roommate when I got there. And tonight I’m going to be social.

Things are looking up.

They always do that after awhile.