An Act Of Vulnerability

Right now, I’m on another airplane.  It’s always one airport to the next.  I don’t necessarily mind, as I’m truly beginning to embrace that it is simply a fact that I don’t sit still well.  I moved to Ft. Laudy Daudy to make myself stay, but have done little of that, spending more time in Los Angeles, and everywhere else, than the East Coast.  Friends have inquired as how I like Florida.  I don’t know what to say, as it’s good for some reasons, and bad for others.  I don’t think that I would have finished my book proposal (I’m writing a book now) if I didn’t move, and know for a fact, that I wouldn’t have started flight training.  But, I miss my besties, and can’t shake how California has a hold of my heart.  And somewhere, within me, the constant movement still creates a dull ache of missing, an aura of loneliness.

In an act of vulnerability, I’ll admit, I would like to call someone my boyfriend.  I would like to be able to tell someone that I’m not leaving tomorrow.  That I know my schedule for the next week.  I would like to say that becoming a pilot was definitely meant for me, and that my flight training is all that I care about, but I can’t.  I just can’t.  That simply isn’t my life right now, and as much as it would be nice to have a little more predictability, I really am mesmerized by the adventure of it all.

Airplane wing

I feel that I am simultaneously succeeding wildly, and failing quickly.  I don’t know if I can handle the pressure to be The Flight Attendant Life, become A Pilot Life, and simply be me.  I got a job this week that had me covering many miles, landing in a variety of airports, meeting new people, and requiring that I “be pretty.”  That’s the way Hollywood is apparently…

I’m not accustomed to someone else considering that I need water, or a ride to the airport.  I’ve learned to pack my own lunch, and carry my own bags.  It’s foreign, but nice, to be offered a job, where travel is involved, but someone else is required to pick up the tab for food, hotels, and make sure that I am happy.

But I am happy.  No one else can make me that.  It’s what I choose.  I think in all reality, I am too busy, and feel too blessed to even consider unhappiness.  So many opportunities have been thrown into my lap recently.  I have been encouraged by friends, strangers, and coworkers, that I will be outstanding, and that my work (writing, and otherwise) is appreciated.  Others believe in me more than I believe in myself.  I find this incredible, valuable, and critical in motivating me to continue to do what I fear, to take risks, and to live an insanely adventurous life.

Whales Hawaii

Swimming with whales.  Kailua, Oahu, Hawaii

I’ve never realized how much looking a certain way will guarantee employment, as I never had been told directly, up until this week, that it was a photo that landed me a job.  In one more moment of vulnerability, I will admit that I have more often identified with ‘not pretty enough,’ and struggle with my image.  If three years ago, I had been told that my looks were of such critical importance, it probably would have pressured me into unhealthy tendencies.  It would have broken me, and I would have yielded to the voice that says that I need to be perfect to be loved.

I think that more than the need to be perfect to be loved, I need to be permanent.  Both I see as impossible.  No one will ever completely understand how much goodbyes rock me.  How they hurt.  How I am insecure, and afraid, because I think a man only likes me because I am a flight attendant- an opportune hook-up, a cute face to kiss.  I don’t know how much longer I can handle this lifestyle, and yet, I know how I am so happy living in it, and wonder if I can ever give it up.

Karalee Mulder

Happy in Wanderlust.  Traveling from New York to Turks & Caicos. 

I would like to spend time with that guy that I clicked with in Los Angeles.  I want to hangout with that girl that I met in Ft. Lauderdale, and meet the corporate pilot that I have been talking to on the phone the last few weeks.  But, I don’t know where to find the time for more, when there is literally too much, a stark contrast to a life of five years ago when I had no bubbles, no boys, and no employment.

I’m not complaining over my life.  It really is incredible.  I am thankful.  I am simply saying that I am human.

I am human.


About the Author Kara

Curious. Bubbly. Creative. Curating a life I don't need an escape from and inspiring you to do the same.

follow me on: