I know my way around the grocery store now.
The peanut butter is in aisle three, right next to the spices.
Wednesday is the best day to go for my favorite snack to be in stock, even better if you go during your lunch break.
I even know some of the workers: Denise, Brandon, and Ryan. We laugh as I return for the third time that week: “I forgot something,” I say. Every single time, I forget something. Sometimes I wonder if I’m forgetting on purpose.
One of the first times I cried in San Jose was at the grocery store. I couldn’t find anything on my list for the life of me. I knew that I could ask a worker, but to ask meant accepting that I was a long way from home.
I was so far away from any sense of home that I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to make pasta that night as I aimlessly paced the aisles.
“What am I doing?” I thought. “Why did I come here? It doesn’t have to be this hard. I could have just never left.”
I longed for familiarity, to walk with my head down, to not require help. I believed that this move was a mark of my independence, not the opposite. I had never felt so dependent on so many people for a sense of direction, all the way down to, “Where’s the salt?” Truly pathetic, I thought to myself.
Over the past few months, time has reintroduced me to comfort. I slowly built a foundation for a life here that grants me permission to stay in on the weekend if I feel like it or cook the same meal five nights in a row if I’m craving it. I no longer experience the pressure for my life here to feel different. It wasn’t always this way.
Today, when I was driving home from the grocery store, the sky faded from pink to purple as I made my way back by muscle memory. One more left and I would be home. It’s only a three minute drive, and I used to GPS it, I thought and laughed to myself. How have I already gotten to a point where this, too, feels mundane?
As hard as it is to admit, I put a lot of pressure on myself when I decided to move across the country post-grad. This pressure wasn’t pretty, for it stemmed from a place of discontent.
Before the move, I was drowning in myself. I felt so overwhelmed and suffocated by the period of my life that had ended and the overwhelming possibilities of what this next chapter could mean.
I sat trapped between regret and potential, and I believed that if I could change my environment, I wouldn’t have to choose. Everything would align for me if I was brave enough to just do it, so I did. In retrospect, this was a pipe dream. As much as I managed to leave behind in my basement and underneath my childhood bed, I still had to bring myself with me as I checked into the flight.
Ever since I arrived in San Jose, I have known that this was the right decision for me. I know that this is where I was meant to be, but right doesn’t mean easy. When I think about past changes in my life, I wish someone would have been there to tell me that challenge is imperative for growth. But to be fair, I think that’s something you have to learn on your own: Hungry, crying, and lost in a grocery store at 8 p.m.
I’ve written about becoming more comfortable with my emotions over the past year, and it is not something that has come easily to me. With time, though, we grow so much that we forget. We lose sight of how long we prayed for life to feel this comfortable.
Now, each grocery trip feels shorter. I grab exactly what I need. Sometimes, I think I pretend to be lost because I am not ready for life to feel familiar again.
I always thought that once I found my way, I wouldn’t have any more questions. The truth is, no matter how many grocery stores I learn to navigate, I will always have endless learning when it comes to knowing myself. No matter where I call home, I will get to a point where I am so comfortable that I am forced to look inward.
Thinking back, part of me misses the days where my biggest question was, “Where’s the peanut butter?”
But I’m learning that sometimes, external comfort brings internal turbulence. As I become familiar with what was once a new environment, I am realizing that I might not feel quite as familiar with this new version of myself.
I guess that I could just pick up and move again, try a new grocery store, get lost in my environment again as a distraction from myself. But this time, I am not going to run for a new destination. I am going to stay.
There’s no shame in asking where the salt is. In fact, everyone tends to be quite happy to help. There’s also nothing wrong with having unanswered questions for yourself, even if it feels scary to ask them.
In our 20s, I hope that we can recognize that feeling lost is a dwindling gift that we won’t keep forever. Allow yourself to feel discomfort, and take the pressure off of yourself to resist it. We are becoming greater versions of ourselves in the process.
Yes, I know my way around the grocery store, but tomorrow I will show up and say, “I forgot salt,” even though I didn’t. I’ll wander the aisles and take my time. No matter how long it takes, I’ll look for that piece of myself that had everything and more awaiting her. I’ll remember that it isn’t so scary to still be searching. That’s kind of the point of it all.
While I hoped I’d have less questions by now, I only have more. But at least I know one thing.
As I head out of the store, I’ll walk towards aisle three, where the salt is, obviously, it’s right next to the peanut butter. And for now, simply knowing that is enough to make me proud.
Romanticizing the Grocery Store :)
Comments