It seems I have just four weeks left in South Africa. Wow. I still feel like I’m getting acclimated here, and it’s swiftly approaching time again for me to leave. Typically, with this realization I am spiraling into a giant freak-out about What Comes Next. On Saturday, I damn near worked myself into a full blown panic attack when I realized that there are soooooo many more jobs in SF and Seattle than in Portland. Which means, of course, that the responsible thing to do would be to expand my job search. I’ve put my heart and soul into this degree, and should try to get as much benefit from it as possible. However, the mere thought of continuing to be in a long distance relationship with my awesome honey makes me feel like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest; I really, really want (need??) to be where he is. So now I’m back to the drawing board with my business plan, and I think I have a really good idea, BUT — I haven’t yet figured out how to make it profitable enough to live on. It’s still beer, just not a shop (yet!!).

Of course, What Comes Next is terrifying for a plethora of reasons — mostly having to do with uncertainty, and a lot of scary, unanswered questions. No matter how sure I feel about my relationship (and I feel pretty damn sure — 10 years of being best friends is an unbeatable foundation!) it still feels like a gamble to move halfway around the world to be with someone, especially given that I’m launching myself into an incredible sketchy job market. It’s a strange thing to be SO sure about Micah, and do terribly UN-sure about, well, EVERYTHING else.

However, I do have four weeks left in South Africa, and there are a LOT of things I should do before I go. My housemate and I are going to do a half Master Cleanse this week (so just 5 days, starting on Friday — which is to say, AFTER my dreaded finance mid-term), and then we have plans to do some hiking up Table Mountain and Lion’s Head, since I haven’t done that yet. There are restaurants I want to try before I go, too, and probably a fair amount of touristy type stuff to do. Which means, I think, that the next four weeks are going to FLY by. Then it’s off to London to hang out with my awesome “family” there, and then… Back to the US! (Um, provided that prices become reasonable. Wow, yeah, flights are CRAZY expensive right now.)

So, yeah, four weeks and counting!!

In my life prior to b-school, you probably heard me say, repeatedly, that I wished I could get by just working part time — you know, 20 hours or so a week, just enough for “a sense of purpose.” And what does that even mean? Well, to me it means that I’d have a good mix of obligation (somewhere I HAVE to be and things I HAVE to do when I get there) and free time; or rather, enough obligations to then be able to creatively FILL my free time, if that makes sense. I guess I mean order and structure, but also balance and liberty.

The reason I mention this is that I’ve finally nailed down what’s been so troublesome about this time in Cape Town. Yes, I’m lonely. Yes, it’s foreign here. But is that really it? To be honest… No, I don’t think so. I think if I were uber-busy with school (like I was 12 months ago, for example) I wouldn’t have TIME to feel so lonely and frustrated and culture-shocked.

What I’m missing here isn’t my home and isn’t my friends (though I DO miss you guys!!). What I’m missing is a sense of purpose. School occupies precious little of my time, and it’s (theoretically) the reason I’m here. I’ve made my gym project a serious part of my life here, but that, too, only occupies at MOST 2 hours of my day (more often an hour, though, if I’m being really honest). I’ve also made a special project of sharpening my cooking skills, but that, again, is really only 2 hours a day. And if I’m being really sincere, I would call these things self-indulgent side projects (which is reductive, I know, but reflects how I feel) — distractions, more than anything.

Most people I know would LOVE to have the time (er, the “problem”) that I have. They might even be content filling their time the way that I do (cooking, reading, gym-ing, etc). But I don’t know… I find myself wondering what’s WRONG with me, why I can’t be content with my lovely, simple life here. Is it Super Woman complex? Some kind of bizarre guilt that I’m not filling every hour of every day, AND trying to save the world? (Um, yes, probably.) Is it deeply acculturated American obsession with productivity? (Absolutely. You can’t divorce that sh** in a month.) Am I mad at myself for my own lack of creativity and discipline? (YES.)

In summary, I’m missing a sense of purpose. A raison d’etre, as it were. I feel convinced that the loneliness, discomfort, culture shock — ALL of it — would diminish radically if I felt like there was something I HAD to do here, some way that I HAD to fill my time.

The thing is — this SHOULD be enough. My life is lovely and beautiful here, and WHY should I be so obsessed with “productively” filling my time? Why can’t I just relax and enjoy it? Why do I NEED a sense of purpose? I wish I had an answer for that. I wish I could find that perfect center that they talk about in yoga and just BE here, in the moment, thankful for the time and unconcerned with how much I fill it.

I’m thinking there has to be a happy medium. Maybe I’ll content myself with filling my time the way I have been, or maybe I’ll find more “productive” ways to fill my time — hopefully, it’ll be a little bit of both. And sheesh, it’s not like I’ll EVER have this kind of time again, right? So maybe I need to let go of this whole sense of purpose business, at least for now, and just enjoy this beautiful city, eh?

I wish I could report that 10 days have made a huge, life-altering difference in my experience of South Africa thus far. Alas, no. Don’t get me wrong — I’m definitely trying to make the best of things here. I’ve been excessively diligent about going to the gym (every. single. day. — oh, except Sundays, because they’re closed). I’ve been eating yummy, home-cooked, healthy meals. I’ve very nearly stopped drinking alcohol. I’m reading, watching movies, getting good sleep… And finally (finally!) beginning to make some very cool friends. I actually had social engagements on Friday, Saturday and Sunday — yay! (School, clearly, is a total afterthought — but didn’t we know that’s how it would be here, anyway? And let me just say: repeating Finance is one of the dumbest ideas I’ve EVER had. Ugh.)

But still… I don’t know. I’m just impatient to feel comfortable here, I guess, and extraordinarily homesick. Micah asked me — “homesick for where?” Ah, right… There isn’t any ONE place I would or could call home right now. Barcelona will never be the same, since most of my friends have now moved away. Boston hasn’t been home for almost 2 years now, and my friends there have also been steadily moving away. I definitely miss New York (a LOT!!), but wouldn’t necessarily point to it as the epicenter of my homesickness. I certainly can’t say that I’m homesick for Portland, since Portland has never been my home. So perhaps the argument could be that I simply feel the loss of a general home — but what is “home,” really? Much more than just a house, clearly — even more than just the place where I live, I think. A place where I have friends and a social life and feel reciprocal love and understanding, where people not only know but have participated in my stories, and I know and have participated in theirs, where I have my own stuff and my own car, and feel as comfortable alone as I do in the company of others… Maybe that’s what I’m missing. Whatever it is that I’m missing, it’s throwing a dark cloud over my time here, and making it nearly impossible for me to conjure a good mood. Not that I’m always in a BAD mood, per se… Just, I don’t know, I’m not in a very good mood — I’m mellow, morose, blue, unenthusiastic, whatever you want to call it. Which then drags on my motivation, making it harder for me to get out of the house and harder to break the cycle. Needless to say, I’m super frustrated with myself right now.

Incredibly, I’ve already been here over a month, and have just 9 weeks left. Which means that no matter how uncomfortable or “home”sick I may feel, it’ll all be over ridiculously soon, and then I start an even bigger, in many ways scarier, adventure (you know — the post-MBA career start, the entrepreneurial side bet, the Big Relationship, etc). So despite my sad tone, I’m committed to making an effort here, making some friends, and really getting something great out of this experience. I mean, really — when will I be living in Africa again? Maybe never? So I promise to write a more optimistic, hopeful, light-hearted blog next time. But for now, yeah… I’m pretty homesick — whatever that means.

So far, I’m still not feeling terribly settled in here, and I’m trying to remember if it took this long for me to feel comfortable in Spain — probably not, since I already knew Raul, and my social life with all the other MBAs kicked off nearly the moment I arrived. Here, it’s so very different — all of the other students are all already acquainted, and I’m the lone exchange student in the group. Don’t get me wrong — they’re all extremely friendly and approachable, and have been very welcoming. But they also have more course work than I do, and are still at that early, stress-y stage in the MBA. Having already been through that stage (and then some!) I can relate, but have no interest in re-tracing those stressed-out steps.

Luckily, Megan and David were here last week, so I got to pretend that I have a social life. We went to a few really great restaurants, a halfway decent club, and spent a wonderful afternoon last Sunday at Cape Point, the most South-Westerly point in Africa. Once again, rather than narrate, I’ll illustrate with photos. Of course, this is just a handful. It takes a year to upload these to the blog, so you can see the rest here.

Luckily, I have my new gym regimen to keep me busy (been there 9 out of the last 10 days! and it’s not getting ANY easier! wheeeee!), as well as fun veggie/vegan cooking projects. Earlier this week, I made some yummy soup from Laura’s blog, and my roommate made a delicious black bean one. (Yeah, it’s about to be winter here. Winter? In MAY? Yep — in the Southern Hemisphere, friends. Luckily, I think the winter here is more or less equivalent to, say, Santa Cruz or Barcelona, so it won’t be that bad. That said? Rain and fog are still indisputably soup weather.)

The thing is: I just can’t seem to get comfortable here. Yet. Maybe it’s the in-your-face racial divide. Maybe it’s the nine million cautionary tales I’ve already heard about walking the streets after dark (which is a big DON’T!!!!!) or getting in the informal taxis (think: giant gypsy cabs, like in vans, but with routes, and, if I understand correctly, more or less run by the mafia — probably totally safe, as so many people take them, but potentially a place to get mugged, stabbed, kidnapped…. too many years of watching Law and Order, methinks, and I can’t get myself to get in the damn things, so I’ve been paying for taxis to and from school — no public transportation… thank goodness it’s relatively cheap to do that!). Maybe it’s the WAY too present evidence of the difference between the “haves” and the “have nots.” Maybe it’s just that I don’t really have friends here yet. Maybe it’s the cats pissing in my room. (Did I mention there are FIVE of them??) Probably? It’s all of the above. Still, though, I know that this, ultimately, is an incredible experience, and that all of that discomfort must ultimately dissipate and leave my horizons broader than they were. Until then? Like I said: the gym, good eating, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of studying and business plan writing.

I’ve been in Cape Town nearly a week now, and let me just say — WOW. I haven’t done a TON of exploring (yet!!) but I’ve loved everything so far. It’s amazing to step out my front door and smell the ocean, walk down my street and see it. There’s no way anyone could argue that the ocean doesn’t have a presence here, as I might have done in Boston or even (gasp!) Barcelona. The Atlantic is rugged and raw and real, and I LOVE it. I’ve now spent several days walking along the ocean-side promenade, both towards and away from Cape Town, and every time it’s just as magical. It’s a bit like walking on East Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz, actually. And definitely as beautiful. I’m delighted to have the ocean be such a presence in my life. As soon as I can get myself a bicycle, I’m planning on having it be my primary mode of (daytime…) transport, and hope to ride along the promenade 7/8 of the way to school. (Um, yeah… no public transportation, per se, in Cape Town. I have yet to experiment with the sketchy-looking van-taxis that my roommate seems to think are safe enough and only cost R5 or so, versus a regular taxi that would be about R50… Hm… I don’t know, man. They look pretty damn sketchy to me. But, erm, when in Rome…?)

Having all this free time, though, has been a little strange, especially given that it’s a generally accepted truth that venturing out alone after dark is a BAD idea. So basically, I’ve been eating and cooking good food every day, getting out to walk for a couple of hours or so, and spending the evening watching tv, reading, hanging around the house with my housemate, and playing on the internet. Oh, and I’ve been off the booze this whole last week — giving my liver a break, you know (also, what am I going to do? go to a bar by myself? yeah, no). And I know that it’ll all be different as I start making friends, and I’ll have REAL excuses to leave the house and whatnot, but yeah, it’s been odd — healthy, but odd.

So, once again, I’ve decided to attempt to dedicate myself to losing all the damn weight I put on in B-school. (Seriously. I just can’t live like this anymore!) As luck would have it, there’s a personal training gym down the street from my house, and (hurray for the exchange rate!) it’s relatively affordable. The place is beautiful, and has huge windows overlooking that gorgeous ocean that I love so much, which is a total bonus. I got myself all enrolled yesterday, and met for the first time with my booty-kicking trainer today. Um, yeah. Apparently, not only am I a giant fat-ass right now (for me — 66kg, gasp!!!), I’m also REALLY (really, really) out of shape. I guess today was a “light” workout. (Light? LIGHT?! Light workout my A**!!) I thought I might die at LEAST three different times. I had no idea that personal training would mean working every major muscle group AND feeling like a total fool. (My trainer is, like, thisbig, adorable, Vietnamese/Canadian, and ALL muscle — I was so embarrassed every time I had to ask for less weight on something that the tiny woman could do with her pinky! BUT, she’s a total sweetheart and really good at postive reinforcement, so she definitely wasn’t TRYING to make me feel like a g**damn heiffer.) The worst part? Sprints. In the gym. With a medicine ball. Suddenly I’m the fat kid in gym class, or Chunk from the Goonies, or something (doubled over, panting “hey guys… GUYS… just… guys… just a second…” pant pant pant). The horror!! Especially when my trainer says, as I heave my fat ass from one end of the gym to the other with the bright orange medicine ball “It’s not a jog! Come on! Visualize those pants you want to wear!!” And I’m thinking “I AM running!! What the hell? Eff those pants!!” So then I force myself to push harder, and she says “Good! Only 30 more seconds!” which nearly makes me cry, because really, I’m no sprinter and it’s HARD, and my face is turning seventeen shades of purple, and I want to drop the stupid medicine ball, and I finally finish, and want to collapse and die, but am congratulating myself internally for at least completing the excercise without falling on my face and maybe now I’m done for the day — but NOOO! There are lunges to be done! And tricep curls! And squats! And hey, guess what? Another set of effing SPRINTS! Dear god, it was humiliating. Oh, and yeah — this is the gym where the SERIOUS fitness nuts go, so, while it was the middle of the day and there was (luckily) almost no one there, there was only one person in the whole place larger than I am — and she’s freaking PREGNANT! Gah!! And my trainer is so dear and sweet and positive that I had to force myself to smile all the way through it and act cool, purple face be damned (“Yeah, I can handle this, no problem… wait, how many more? … uh, yeah, no, it’s fine… really…” Smile smile smile…). Meanwhile, my face is now a deep shade of crimson, I have sweat dripping out of every pore, and I want to fall on the floor and die. And again, this was the LIGHT workout. Even more fun? I’ll be keeping a food journal and sharing with my trainer. Awesome. Turns out it’s a good thing that the beer here isn’t very tempting, eh? When she told me I need to try to cut out 500 calories a day (combination of diet and exercise) I almost fell of the elliptical machine! I mean, I’ve been eating well, but sheesh! This is going to make partying with the classmates challenging, to say the least (“just a white wine spritzer for me, thanks” — nooooo!!!). Tomorrow I have to go back to the gym for a half hour of cardio and more punishment to my abs (yay!) and then I’ll be seeing my trainer again on Friday morning (8:30am, yay!). Um, I don’t know what I’ll do if she wants to give me more than a “light” workout. Hopefully not hyperventilate and die, because that would be REALLY embarrassing… In any event, I guess I can expect some results from this one, right?