Washed Up

Dissipation

Riley

Dissipation. Noun. [dis-uh-pey-shuhn]. The process in which a wave generated via a weather condition loses its mechanical energy.

In the last seven days, I have brainstormed 127 ways Ross could come to an untimely demise, and I've recorded all of them in a list in my phone. My personal favorite involves tar and feathering in front of all his family and friends.

Maybe my anger is unwarranted. I mean, I've only known him a few weeks. Not even a month. Maybe I was nosy. Maybe I pushed him too far. Maybe. But because of my overwhelming rage, I've disregarded ration. I don't want to be level-headed. I don't want to think about how I should feel; I only know how I do feel.

I lean back onto the narrow bunk bed and squeeze my eyes shut, my heart still throbbing in my chest.

Angry, check. Frustrated, check. Hurt, check. I don't know if I'm more upset by the way he ignored my question or by the hurtful words he directed back at me. Until a week ago, I never thought of Ross as someone who was quick to retaliate in anger. I actually considered him thoughtful and kind. I thought he understood my dilemma, my utter purposelessness in life, but instead he exploited my greatest weakness as the object of his retribution.

Was I wrong? On one hand, until a week ago, he was funny, charming, kind, understanding. A ten minute argument in the middle of a freaking surf shop doesn't change his very essence. But what happened in there? I just--I wanted to understand what was holding him back from the future he so clearly wants. He wants to see the world, but something is stopping him.

On the other hand, I don't know what I want, but I have all the freedom in the world. Strangely enough, however, my freedom sometimes feels like it's own cage. If I can do whatever I want, then why can't I find something that I love? A career, a passion, a purpose?

Maybe Ross is jealous of my freedom just like I'm jealous of his home and family and belonging. Still, he didn't have to lash out. "You're as bad as me. No--you're worse." I want to prove him wrong, show him that I can change and I can go after what I want, but how? What options do I have in my limitless freedom? I could go back to college, but I don't know what I want to study, and even if I had some inkling about my future career, my parents won't approve unless it's stable and lucrative. I could travel, but I've already seen so much of the world. I crave connection, belonging, home, not something artificial like the army barracks I've lived in most of my life. I want to love people and be loved in return, but that's not something I can "go after."

A tiny part of me that I don't really want to listen to tells me that Ross might have been right. I'm doing nothing; I'm not even trying to find what I want, much less go after it. If I'm honest with myself, the only clear thing that I want right now is Ross despite my best efforts at hating him. But of course, the one thing I want, I'm too angry and hurt to go after.

Chasing after Ross might be a stupid goal, but I still want to prove to him that I'm not doing nothing. Fine, then. I will. I flail myself over the edge of the bed and dig beneath it in the pile of discarded junk and dirty underwear to find my white MacBook.

So what do I want out of life? I know what I don't want. I don't want some corporate job where I spend all my time crunching numbers and squashing small businesses. I don't want to join the military or work on Wall Street or become a pilot or any of the other career paths Dad has pushed me towards. I know I want stability and purpose and meaning. I want to do something that helps people.

The problem is that I have no idea where to start. I open Safari and type in "How to figure out what you want to do with your life." As if the computer somehow knows me, the first thing I see is a gif of a twenty something woman sobbing into a half-gallon of ice cream. I press a hand to my stomach when it starts to grumble. I swear I'll reward myself with ice cream after this.