Surrealism

Have you ever stopped, looked around, and asked yourself, What the hell am I doing here? I feel like I do this a lot. And sometimes the situation is so absurd that I ask it out loud. Maybe I'm hoping some random stranger on the street will offer some valuable insight into the craziness that is my life. But then again, maybe I don't really want to know. Which is probably why I try to hide from fortune tellers. Jackson Square is a scary place for me.

I asked myself this when I moved into my new group house in DC. For those of you unfamiliar with sub-standard housing lingo, group house is basically just a fancy word for adult dormitory. I live in this house and share a bathroom with roughly 8 other people, 4 of which I've never even seen before, and at least 1 of which has a serious hair in the sink problem. But I do hear them through the walls and I go through their mail. Don't worry, I don't open it....although the Zappos box that has been sitting in the foyer for 3 weeks is just begging for it...but that's besides the point.

It struck me again at this past weekend's excursion to a pumpkin festival. On the heels of a drunken late night dance party, the good, old fashioned, family fun was a welcome change of pace. As was the hot dog and side of barbecue beef I downed for lunch, although I guess you can't really call it a side item if it's actually slathered on top. But that's just semantics. It was delicious. However, that wasn't the What the hell moment (although it probably should have been). That moment came when I found myself yelling FIRE IN THE HOLE!!! as I forcefully pulled the lever of a large cannon named "Chunkin Up," sending a pumpkin flying through the air at an impressive and exhilarating speed before it met it's demise against an unfortunate tree. Not to brag, but my pumpkin did easily go the furthest (which was celebrated on my part by a very enthusiastic fist pump) and my battle cry was definitely the most believable. Innate ability and skill aside, this is when I took a step back to do some much needed reevaluating. How is it that I ended up in Maryland shooting pumpkins into the woods? And is this a bad thing?

I remember over 5 years ago standing in front of a mailbox on Metairie Road, contemplating the letter in my hand. It was addressed to Georgetown and said that I was turning down their offer to attend grad school there. I had decided to go somewhere else, and although I knew it was the right decision, I stood in front of that mailbox for a long time. A really long time. I finally closed my eyes and mailed it off. It was hard to do, I had always dreamed of going to school there. I was transported back to that moment a few weeks ago as I stood in the middle of Georgetown's campus on a beautiful fall afternoon. I was there to use the library for a project I'm working on with the think tank. Although it was in a different capacity, and one that I couldn't have imagined all those years ago, I still made it to Georgetown and am the proud owner of my very own library card. This was meant to be.

Life is like one of those books where at the end of each chapter you have to pick either option A or B. Do you want to go through the sunflower field or down the waterfall? And depending on that choice, your path is forever altered. To borrow from and misinterpret Robert Frost, I believe they are all the road less travelled. The world is full of a lot of really brave and adventurous people who are just trying to navigate life, whether in the grocery store or in a pumpkin patch.

As for me, what keeps me going is blind faith in the idea that I'll end up where I'm supposed to be. One day, one of these paths is going to lead me to whatever it is that I'm looking for. And if the only way I can get there is by 'Chunkin Up,' then so be it. Who am I to question that?