"A nomad I will remain for life, in love with distant and uncharted places." -Isabelle Eberhardt
"A nomad I will remain for life, in love with distant and uncharted places." -Isabelle Eberhardt
This is Water
Aimee Geurts • Feb 22, 2022

The stories we tell ourselves are the stories others hear about us

A story I tell about myself

Is I have a terrible memory

And I read too many books

To be able to remember things

My brain is simply crammed too full


A new friend gave me a copy of David Foster Wallace’s This is Water:

Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life

A commencement speech he delivered in 2005


He talks about goldfish and god and eskimos and the grocery store line*

But more importantly, he talks about the default settings we all have

Our powers of observation that are nothing more than habit

And instead, to be able to choose our thoughts

How we experience our experiences

Because we are the center of the experiences

They all happen to us, they all happen to me


And now I wonder

Do I have a terrible memory

Or have I not been paying attention?


*Recently, I was in line at the grocery story and the women in front of me finished her check out and THEN asked to purchase stamps thereby requiring another entire transaction and THEN she asked for a raincheck for some item that was on sale and out of stock (I assume?) and I didn’t even know rainchecks were a thing FFS! And THEN I realized I was having my very own David Foster Wallace experience and I took some deep breaths and reminded myself I hardly ever have to wait in line in this grocery story and this is really a one-off experience, and the cashier woman is being quite patient and how lovely to have time. I have the time to stand in this line and not be pissed off by stamps and rainchecks. I have the time.

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In Great Circle Jaime says, “The compromise is that I’m living day to day without making any sweeping decisions.” I realize I have fallen into this way of thinking. Whispering to myself, everything is fine today. Although I do still enjoy imagining other lives, get caught up in the swell of possibility, for the first time in a long time I feel settled.  Jamie’s sister Marian says, “Is that compromise? It sounds a bit like procrastination. You don’t think you’ll go back to being how you were before, do you?” I know I won’t go back to being how I was before. I know that today. I’m not sure what I’ll know tomorrow. Reading articles about women realizing they are tired of working the corporate ladder and feel vindicated in my low-paying jobs with no benefits. When the farmer in Spain doesn’t reply to my emails about a room and board work agreement, when the Airbnb host in Greece offers me his camper van instead of his home, I decide it’s all too much and I give up. I’m not upset about it. I’m relieved. Instead, I make easy plans to see the Redwood Forest, right here in the good ol’ U. S. of A. I plan to stop in Medicine Bow, WY on my way from Denver to Bismarck next time I’m there. My next adventure is right around the corner instead of a nine-hour flight away. I make plans to make less plans. I stop looking for more jobs. The low-paying jobs I have now are quite fulfilling and they pay me enough to cover my health insurance and put a little aside. What they give me is time. Time to have lunch with my sister-in-law on her birthday. Time to take a 4-day weekend to see my new niece. Time to take a walk downtown on a Wednesday and bring Roxy a sandwich while she slings books at the low-paying bookstore where I no longer work. Time to read all the books in my house. Time to volunteer in the middle of the day. Call it compromise. Call it procrastination. I call it feeling settled.
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