Torn Between Two Lives: Inspired by Sylvia Plath's Fig Tree Analogy

I recently visited home. Traveling back home is a bittersweet experience. It feels like I haven’t been away long until I notice the changes. The new buildings along the highway that used to be lined with trees, the crystal clear words that used to be gibberish coming from my niece’s mouth, the new wrinkles on my parents’ faces and the gray hairs on their heads, the goofy kids I used to coach who are now taller-than-me, cooler-than-me teens, and my friends with new houses, new apartments, wedding rings, and babies. 

Realizing how much can change in less than a year of being gone makes me question how I'm living my life across the world. Seeing what I’ve missed out on, seeing the people I've left behind and the possibilities and opportunities that still await me, all tempt me to go back. No matter how unique and magical my life in Costa Rica is, I will always have a part of me that feels drawn back to Texas and Oklahoma. So much of who I am, my identity, was built in these places with these people. And despite the adventures, experiences, and people that have made me fall in love with Costa Rica, a looming sense of guilt for who I left behind and desire for what could be keeps me tied to my life back in the states. 

Sylvia Plath’s fig tree analogy speaks volumes to me. If you’ve read it before, you’ll understand exactly why. If you haven’t, here it is: 

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

For me, one fig is a volleyball coach, one who stays in her college town and grows her coaching career, watching her players over the years learn and grow, win national titles and lose heartbreakers, commit to college careers and decide on their futures. This fig is also the daughter who only lives a short 3 hour drive away from her parents, the daughter who can come home on the weekends and bake bread with her mom and watch sports with her dad. It’s also the aunt who can watch her niece grow up and discover her interests and talents and passions, it can be the older sister who can be at her younger sister’s graduation and see her college town. It’s the friend who can be at every wedding, birthday party, and holiday, the one who can visit the farmer’s market and go on Target runs with her old college friends on Saturday mornings and play in volleyball tournaments in the evenings. 

The other fig is an English teacher living in Costa Rica, traveling around Central America on her free weekends, learning a new language and a new culture, trying new things, like surfing, pushing herself outside of her comfort zone, and being a beginner at nearly everything. A beginner teacher, a beginner Spanish learner, a beginner surfer, a beginner traveler, and beginner adult, living on her own in a new country, figuring it all out as she goes. But it’s also the long-distance daughter, the one who has to fly across oceans to come home, who misses birthdays, holidays and weddings. It’s the aunt who watches her niece grow up and her parents grow older through a screen over FaceTime, the friend who barely manages to juggle catch-up texts and phone calls between her friends who live in all different time zones. It's the former coach who watches her former players’ matches on FaceBook live streams instead of courtside, and hears about college commitments on Instagram instead of at practice.

And while I can’t have both figs, I’ve come to realize that choosing one doesn’t necessarily mean I have to completely lose the other. I can have one, and still taste the other. I can take most of one, and have a few bites of another. Plus, I’m still young. I have time to decide which fig will be my fig for life. But for now, I love what I'm learning and who I am becoming in Costa Rica. So, I’m going to see how I can mash my two figs together. How I can bring my love of volleyball into a place that I've grown to love and has grown to love me. I'll continue to manage FaceTimes and phone calls, prioritize visits to the U.S., fly out to as many weddings as I can manage, and cheer on the people I love from afar.

Unfortunately, there is no cure for FOMO. No matter which fig I choose, I'll always wonder if I missed out on the better option. From here, I'll miss birthdays, weddings, and graduations. I'll continue to miss the comfort of my mom's arms, the safety of my childhood home, and the warmth of my own bed. I'll always be torn between the life I love and the life I miss. But I would never forgive myself if I gave up the opportunity I have now... to explore the world, to learn on my own, and to see what more is out there. There’s no need to rush to figure out my life, as long as I don’t wait until my figs wrinkle and go black.

P.S. Mom and Dad - Y'all are aging backwards! The wrinkles and grey hair quote was simply for literary effect. Hehe. I love you!