It’s been just about exactly half a year that Laura and I have been living together. Looking back, I can hardly remember how it all started.

June of last year …

I had been spending the past four years in UV lit classrooms daydreaming of the day of freedom when I could finally pack my bags, hit the roads, live for myself. I had somehow convinced myself that the four years, overpriced hardbacks, and overpriced tuition that make up university was a sacrifice I was doing for my parents. They had always pounded it into my head that a college education came first, that it was the most important thing I could do for myself.

Before I got the guts to finally say - and to really mean it - “fuck it, I don’t need that piece of paper. I’d be reading these same books anyways, I’d be having these same conversations, but I’d be traveling to and I’d be learning important skills while I did it.” I mean … that was my plan - always has been. To take my backpack around with me, to travel from city to city working a manual labor job (whether it be welding, auto mechanic, construction worker, farmer, whatever), and spending as much time in the local library as possible. That’s what makes me happy. Working, reading, writing.

But before I got the guts to actually do it, it turned out I was only 10 weeks from graduation. All those years wishing that college would be over and all of a sudden it was. How did it happen? What did a college diploma really represent. Was I any better prepared to do anything than I was four years ago?

It caught me off guard. Finally I was “granted” the freedom to do what I really wanted to do and all of a sudden I didn’t know how to do it.

The answer was to drop everything I was doing, pack my bag, and leave - it should have been so sweet. Quit my job at Miracles, stop my research for the Center for Comparitive Immigration Studies, stop dating a girl from Mexico I had just met a couple weeks earlier, say goodbye to my sister and my friends, and … leave.

I already had a flight to Istanbul, Turkey - where I had been January 2003 - and figured that would be my first stop. That I would teach English there for a year or two before moving on to wherever would be next.

First though I would go down to Mexico and Cuba to finish up my research, then come back, save up some money, and take off. In Mexico (always so much thinking time while traveling) I felt like I was at the fork of two very different life paths. Laura was still in San Diego waiting for me. Even while apart, I knew it was the healthiest relationship I had ever had. My sister was starting to grow up quick, maybe too quick, and I wanted to be there for her during her teenage years. I remembered that time in my own life, how painful of a process it is trying to figure out who you are.

In Mexico I was staying with two very tight-knit families who helped each other out through good times and bad, who were always there to support each other besides screaming at one another on a weekly basis.

I was coming back to San Diego in October. Two and a half months to save up some money and then I was to fly to Istanbul and start the life I had always imagined. I was yearning for the lightness of solitude and a life without responsibility. Day after day of doing only what I wanted to do. Away from the eyes of judgement. Sitting on a park bench for 6 hours reading a book. Whole days walking around, humming to myself. Away from the drama of angry friends, jealous girlfriends, sensitive relatives.

But all of a sudden I was feeling unsure if this was the recipe for happiness. It seemed like it - I had been yearning for the lightness of solitude for years now. (lonliness never really effects me for some reason) But I began to question if heaviness - all the responsibilities, the arguments, the commitment, the jealousy, the drama - was really the recipe for happiness.

I was right there, at the fork of two opposite facing paths. There was no way for me to know which would turn out for the best. There still isn’t. There never is. Am I happier right now than I would be in Turkey? Who knows.

I asked Laura to move in with me. I told my mom that I would take care of my sister while she was in Indonesia.

Six months later here I am, still not knowing why I made the decision to take this road, but in no way regretting it. How could I? How do I know where else I would be?

I’m at a cafe right now having some iced tea. I should be at home either finishing the paint in the kitchen or working in the store or answering emails but I was filled with this anxiety and I needed to get out of the house or I felt like I would explode. All my life I have had the same routine: I wake up, start brewing coffee, go for a run, come back and drink my coffee and then work in a mad fury, trying to get as much done as I possibly can before noon. Then in the afternoon I am relaxed. I feel a sense of accomplishment for all that I did in the morning. I’ll go read or meet with a friend for lunch or go to the gym before starting work at night.

This little trick worked great all my life. I would both be able to get things done but at the same time give this impression that I was a pretty laid back guy because they saw me in my relaxed afternoon state. All this changed with living with Laura. She has a different routine: after waking up she likes to stay in bed talking, falling back asleep, waking up, talking again and then actually getting up like 45 minutes later. Then she’ll call someone on the phone, check her email, clean a little, take her time cooking a nice breakfast, sitting down to have a nice relaxing breakfast and talk about the day. Whereas my day usually ends at noon, hers just begins to start. She sees her day’s path, what she needs to get done, and she does it.

It drives me crazy. I’m in the bed almost twitching because she wants to talk and I want to jump up and go for my run. By the time we’re eating breakfast (which yes, I cook just as often) I’ve already had two cups of coffee and I can barely sit down while she takes 5 minutes to chew one biteful. I look at the clock - 10:30 - and I stil haven’t done shit. This weird thing kicks in and I somehow start to blame her for just about everything. Lack of money - her fault. Not fixing up my site - her fault. Not finishing these damn articles I want to get published - definitely her fault. It’s so weird … I mean … we just have two different routines and I manage to give myself Teret’s about it.

So like I said, it’s been six months. It’s not easy living with somebody else, learning to make so many compromises and share space, share everything. But you definitely do learn, you grow, and I think I’ve become a better person for it.