public service announcement

A secret? I'm frustrated. And filled with self-doubt. And angry, angry that I can't seem to figure this out, that I keep making the wrong choices, or questioning the choices I have made, that I am unable to get it together, that even six months after my breakup I still feel beat down by loneliness and the frustration that my life is not as good, not as rich, as it once was, and why can't I just get over that and move on already, and -

Mid-rant, the phone sticky against my cheek, she interrupts:

"Can I ask you a question?"
"...Yes?"
"What if, instead of beating yourself up about this, you chose to be kind? Because you're my best friend, and I love you, and when I hear you talk about this move I don't think, 'What an idiot, what a terrible choice,' I think - oh, my sweet girl, my dear one. This is so hard, and you are doing so well, and I am proud of you."

I question this move - a lot. Every day. I fall asleep thinking of red-tape and sublets and the inevitable, looming failure on the other end of this hot summer. There are times when I wonder what on earth I'm doing, choosing to stay in a country with whose values I generally disagree, choosing to stomp down roots thousands of miles from a family I love and miss, choosing the path of most resistance, throwing myself into the swamp of immigration law, and then I remember - -

Oh, right.

I'm staying because I have found people who love me, and if you were lucky enough to have friends who will take your broken, lost, confused heart to Disney World not once -

but twice?

Wouldn't you also do everything in your power to cleave as close to them as possible, for as much soul-soakingly joyous time as you are allowed?