back from the dead

I have less than two months left in my contract and, while I’m still ecstatic about the prospect of going home, I’m not entirely as burnt out as I’d anticipate I’d be by this point. A few months ago I hit the proverbial wall, the point where every little nuisance that would otherwise just barely irk me would act like a terrible nail on chalkboard moment, where static, boring little moments would drag on and quiet nights playing to a handful of people made purgatory seem appealing. I was sick of the food, sick of sleeping in a cabin, sick of having to adhere to all-aboard times, sick waiting until 10 at night to start “working.”
In actuality, I am still sick of the food. I am tired of having to keep an eye on my watch so I don’t miss the ship. I’m more than ready to hang up my HALCat books and never dread another Ballroom-themed night again. I think the difference between me then and me now is that my perspective has matured enough to accept that this job really is a certain “lifestyle” that, while it was fun for beaches and tequila in Mexico and the Caribbean, I’ve been long overdue for a change in scenery.
Europe hasn’t necessarily lost its charm on me, but I think I’ve grown comfortable enough with it where I’m not awestruck by everything. Not every meal will be transcendent, the architecture, attractive as it may be, grows old (ha…) after a while, and sometimes the coffee here really does suck. It’s true. The thing that matters to me right now is picking up what little bits of life here and there I can and seeing if it makes sense. Eating lunch a bit slower. Taking fewer sips of a drink. Walking faster on occasion. Knowing when to observe everything around me and knowing when to damn it all with a book.
I came here curious for an adventure and, more or less, I’ve had one. Not the crazy one young people often come to Europe looking for, but one where you come out having learned a few things. I’d say I have.
Now, however, I’m ready to cook my own food.

Reading: The City of Falling Angels—John Berendt
Listening: Live at Ronnie Scott’s—Jamie Cullum