I never was well-suited for civilization. I get overwhelmed by too many buildings, busy traffic, and swarms of people; I struggle with social expectations; I don’t follow time constraints well. I’d rather be left alone in the woods, or on a mountain top, or even in a desolate desert. After a difficult childhood and adolescence spent in a sprawling metropolitan suburb, I figured my best hope for success (if not survival) was to live as close to nature as possible.
Blessedly, in my mid-twenties, I discovered the field of outdoor environmental education – my ticket to a new life. For nearly a decade, I traversed the natural wonders of the world, teaching kids about nature as an outdoor educator, volunteering on farms, and exploring on my own in between. More days than not, I was hiking, rock climbing, or kayaking, and most nights I slept in a tent or under the stars. Most of the time, I was technically homeless, but I was free.
I loved this way of life. It was grounding to be always close to the earth and exhilarating to be constantly discovering new places. More importantly, it filled me with passion and purpose. Despite all the positives, though, a sort of emptiness lingered inside of me, and with an untreated bipolar disorder, I had deep, sometimes perilous struggles.
I am under proper treatment now, spared from dangerous highs and lows. I was also fortunate enough to find my other half – a love so deep it’s filled that emptiness inside. I wouldn’t give up that bond for anything, but it came with a heavy trade-off. I had to leave behind my vagabond lifestyle amongst the great wilds of the world and settle back down in civilization.
It was difficult to reenter the world of people, cars, buildings, and “normal” work. Like a wild animal, I had to be tamed. I had to relearn how to sleep inside, trapped by wood, insulation, and glass. I had to dress, converse, and work differently. I got the hang of it though… eventually… sort of.
For six years now, I’ve played wife in a two-story house with a fenced-in yard for the pets, tucked in tight with other houses. I have lived with the same sights, people, and food, but I’ve never quite fit in. One job after another comes and goes, mirroring my internal struggle to remake myself. Even with a master’s degree and a long resume, no one has welcomed me into their organization or school (except as a substitute teacher). I have made some friends and joined a couple clubs, but I still feel like an outsider. It seems this town will never truly want me – it will use me, need me, and even love me, but it won’t ever have a place for me. I’m a star that cannot fit inside their square hole.
Yet, I refuse to become another square, to bend and twist myself into something that isn’t really me. Honestly, even if I wanted to, I don’t know how. All I know how to do is to work towards a better version of myself. I am constantly trying to learn more, build up my skills, and strengthen my constitution. One day, I hope, my unique shape will be embraced, and I will shine bright like the stars I used to sleep under.
This was written by our contributing writer, Kara Kukovich.
The images used with this personal essay were taken by our writer, Kara Kukovich.
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