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In the midst of, well, everything happening everywhere all at once, I slowed down this weekend to celebrate.
Last Monday morning, I had a sore throat, not enough sleep, a very important task to complete, and the support of family and friends. Honestly, that just about describes much of the past year for me. A months-long project—ten, to be exact—had resulted in a thesis titled One’s-Self I Sing: A Citizen’s Voice in I-voting and Global Democracy. Long story short, it is an investigation on whether or not online, remote voting can help overcome voter disinterest and suppression, whether or not it can clear hurdles for minorities and marginalised groups, and why it works when it works. If you want to yap about this, you know where to find me and, if you don’t, that’s right here and here!
So, Monday is done and over with, I get my grade back and I am just thrilled by that little 92/100 mark next to the submission point. I fly back to Serbia the next day, spend some time in Belgrade, I go back to my little town in Šumadija (💖) a few days later, and I worry. I am a worrier by nature, you see, an incurable condition.
I sit on the sunny, lovely, green, peaceful, wonderful mountain in the late morning, surrounded by the sound of birds and crickets and I worry. I worry about what comes next. I still have two exams left and some assignments before I can officially say I’ve graduated and I do not like the look of those exams. I did not get into a Master’s programme this year. For internships and jobs, I’ve recently received, maybe, my third rejection letter in the past month—it’s a slow month, you’ll have to forgive me. I worry about wedding planning, and moving countries for the third time, and earning, and reading enough books this year, and eating healthier, and developing my professional skills, and developing my hobbies, and about how traineeships and entry-level positions are going to 30-year-olds with ten years of experience, and the news—by gods, I worry about the news.
I breathe in then and realise how dumb I’m acting in that moment. There will always be another thing to worry about, so my hobbies in that regard are perfectly safe. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, I’m at my family home, which is odd, with my betrothed not 2,000km away but instead about one door away, which is odder, and I’m worrying. Wasting a beautiful moment. So, I slow down. I make my iced coffee. I pull out the Scrabble. I ask my Mum and fiance to play. I get lucky with the letters for most of the rounds. I ignore my calls. I look forward to the D&D session later that evening. I catch up on life.
I game with friends. I plan my next sewing project. I read a book on maths because I’m awful at it. I restart a portrait for the third time—the nose is an awful thing. I eat, I walk, I sleep, I live. I set down the worrying for another day.