4/1/2013

I am in Springfield Illinois. I have been here for over a month. A dog named, Butter, sniffs around my room. Who am I? How did I arrive here? Most importantly, where am I going? I know, I know, cliché questions. But aren’t they the heart of any story, of any life, of any organism blessed/cursed with self awareness. How melodramatic I get or always am.

I have come here, or rather fled to here from Austin, Texas. “Wait, what?” you may be asking yourself. “You fled from Austin, Texas TO Springfield, Illinois. Don’t you have that reversed?” In most cases you would be correct, but not in mine. Though I was living in one of the best cities in the world, the fastest growing city in the world, life had become an interminable rut. I kept trudging along this rut day by day making it deeper and deeper. The walls had grown so high I had forgotten that there were options outside of this rut. I ruminated, deliberated, pondered and probed my mind, my interior. There did not seem to be a way of escape. I remembered an offer, whether serious or just one of those things you say, “you can come up here and stay with us if you need to,” words my brother offered and now regrets (though he wont admit it, not yet). So I put in my notice with work. “I’m leaving for Illinois, I’ll be gone by the end of the month.” Shock, fear, anger, I saw these emotions take hold and slowly dissolve as my last few days rushed past, not quickly enough.

The bane of my existence, the basis of my nightly-mares, work and its daily dreads I left behind. No longer was I held responsible for a fledging, more appropriately termed, sinking ship.

My belongings packed and loaded. All bills paid, equipment and keys returned, power and internet shut off. I have closed a chapter of my life and driven 17 grueling hours north to start another.

Here I am. Now what?

 

Author: Brandon Fischer

University of Texas graduate and beer lover.

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