Painstaking Decision-Making

It may look like I’ve been on a blogging hiatus since my last post was about three weeks ago. To be honest, my problem hasn’t been lack of inspiration, but a lack of coherent thoughts to express. I hesitate to say that I’ve gone a little crazy since my January posting in which I realized the inevitability of my return to Canada; but that’s only because it invokes images of me bound in a straitjacket and locked in a padded white room. My room is blue.

Since announcing that I needed to come home I’ve been agonizing about the actual timing of it all, considering three options that presented themselves in front of me.

On one hand, I could swallow my pride, pack up my bags and buy a plane ticket home post-haste. On the other, I could stay and keep half-searching for work, hoping but not trying to make new friends and dreaming about the fun I’d be having in Calgary if I were back. On the third hand (here, for some reason, I can’t help but imagine a many-armed statue of Shiva weighing each choice for me) I could apply for an international “career” job that would go against everything I stated I wanted in January, but would save me from having to face my unfounded fears of settling into the monotony of stationary life.

With each option as enticing as the others, and my decision-making skills out of practice from 5 years of knowing exactly what I would like to do next, I fell into a despairing inner search for answers. I spent hours cleaning, running, biking, walking and writing in my journal hoping Shiva (or someone, anyone!) would appear in front of me and show me the direction I was supposed to take, or at least give me a sign.

In the end, I guess that’s what happened, though it wasn’t Shiva. At first it was my running partner, who mentioned that her company might have a temporary position I could fill. The job sounded interesting and corresponded vaguely with my all-but-forgotten International Development background, so I applied and waited for an answer, telling myself that this would be the decision-maker. I waited and waited but despite some initial enthusiasm about my resume, three weeks later it looked like the job might not exist at all.

Heeding this as a sign, I initiated an emotionally charged conversation with Juju in which she supported my departure and revealed that, anyway, Big and Middle-L were still having trouble adjusting to my presence. As I angrily and tearfully acknowledged that my year in Japan hadn’t magically given me the ability to ease myself gracefully into new situations, I also thanked fate for saving us all from the potentially miserable eight months that remained.

Ironically, two hours later Juju was calling from a girls’ night out saying that her other friend, an anthropologist (I actually minored in Anthropology in university), might have a part-time job for me in Paris. Suddenly it was as if that afternoon’s conversation had never taken place and we were all getting excited about this new way to get me out of the house while keeping me in the country. I was once again committed to finishing my year here, albeit with a different approach to the older Ls. When I thought about it, it really would be a shame to just give up after all the work we had done to adapt to each other, however futile it might have been. At this point, at least things were likely to get better.

As I waited for my unofficial interview with the Anthropologist aboard a Paris-bound early-morning commuter train, my heart and mind continued their tug-of-war about what I should actually do. I couldn’t stand the thought of surrendering to my homesickness, yet my heart was secretly buckling under the pressure of my isolation here (about a thousand times more profound than what I felt in Japan since I’m not only unremarkable to the French, but there are no other visibly discernible expats in the area with whom to commiserate about all the subtle incongruities between France and home).

I alternated between frantically searching for jobs and cheap flights home and marveling at how nice it would be to enjoy having a pool in the summer, take advantage of 5€ plane tickets to destinations like Florence and Madrid, and continue my progress with Baby-L (who, unlike his brothers, had taken a liking to the strict but personalized attention I gave him). In spite of all these great reasons to stay, by the time I finally met the Anthropologist, I had still applied for a position as a Canada World Youth project supervisor, submitted a video application for Australia’s Best Job in the World and created a profile on every Canadian job-search website.

But one day at the Institute of Human Paleontology, tagging along on lab-tours and caressing ancient skulls, was enough to change my mind again. I would stay. And maybe I would discover that I was meant to be a Paleo-Anthropologist’s Assistant all along. With everything but the contract signed, we were just waiting for the Director to return from Ethiopia to give his “okay” and formalize everything.

More waiting…after 5 weeks, it should have been easy to wait a little more, but the anticipation was unbearable. I was paralyzed but I desperately needed to take some sort of action – either to work in Paris or start planning my return to Canada.

Finally a week later, after an inexplicably dreary day of babysitting, I got the Anthropologist’s e-mail entitled “Mauvaise Nouvelle (Bad News)”. As if to say, “I tried to tell you this the first time,” fate had sickened the entire Ethiopian scientific team, requiring the Institute to repatriate all of them and annihilating their budget to hire me. As I closed the e-mail, I swept my fleeting anthropological aspirations back under the rug and gave Juju my official resignation.

It should have been smooth sailing from there. All I had to do was get myself home and resume the happy Calgary life I’d been fantasizing about. But with this return being for good, my desire to find a job that will be challenging and fulfilling without requiring a new degree or years of experience in anything other than traveling, eating or administration has kept me in panic mode. The good news is that my weekends in Europe are fully booked until mid-May, which means another few months to keep frantically searching and applying for jobs.