Frog Out of the Well

“A frog in a well knows nothing of the ocean.”

But you get the idea.

A few nights ago, while walking about in my hometown’s summer heat, I had to take a moment to laugh at myself. Several years ago, as a college freshman, I was frustrated with my first move away from home. I hated Bellingham, with its unfamiliar liberal ideals, its perceived lack of suitable guys, and its dreary, rainy days. I wanted oh-so-badly to move back to Wenatchee. Wenatchee was where I was happy, where I felt secure, where the unknown wasn’t even a question.

I was still a frog in the well, overlooking the ocean of opportunity I had, by chance, landed in.

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that I stopped relying on the security of my hometown. I have a hunch that something about my college experience helped me define myself outside of the 509*-box, and as that development occurred, a certain ambition started to take hold.

I developed my wanderlust around junior year, when several friends of mine studied abroad. Not being able to participate in a program– or, at least not knowing my full options and not being assertive enough– stopped me from having an international experience then. By that time, I was well-aware of the ocean and aware of other lands and seas that were waiting for me.

My recent excursion abroad only made my imagination wilder. I have few plans in my life that are solid, and I am waiting to see how my post-graduate school job search will go. Will I even want to launch into my career then? Who knows what will happen between now and the summer of 2012? Will I be whisked away to a faraway land and then try to weasel my way into working at a university there?

The possibilities excite me and make me nervous. I will continue to see the world in different capacities. I resolve to leave the well far, far behind.

*509 is the area code for the entirety of eastern Washington

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