Oh my god-that-I-don’t-believe-in, this is hard.
Did you know if Peace Corps Mali had never been evacuated, I’d be in my final days there? So, if we had never been evacuated, June 2017 would still know me to be an anxious ball of “what-the-hell-am-I-doing.” It’s nice to know that even if things had gone according to plan, I’d still be a walking emotional and mental trainwreck.
I am over the moon jealous of people who (seem like they) know what they want to do. Not just the ones who know what career they’re drawn to, but also those who know passions that give them energy. The rock climbers, the marathon runners, the tiny and pointless stuffed animal crocheters.
I finished work at the refugee resettlement agency in early May, then travelled for a month. I returned to a feeling of shit shit shit. Coupled with anxiety attacks. Where do I go from here? What is the meaning of anything?
I don’t know. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯