My Friends Are All Over The World
I almost never see them
For over two years now, I’ve lived in Tbilisi, the capital of “the other Georgia,” as some Americans would say. While the rose-tinted glasses have long faded, overall, I’m fine here.
I remain because it works for me, not because I have no choice like many others I’ve met here.
Despite this lukewarm declaration of contentment, almost everyone I’ve become close to has left Tbilisi, including some locals I know.
In many ways it’s a tough place to live; everyone who makes it work has money coming in from abroad, myself included. This is usually some kind of remote work but can also be in the form of a business or remittances (I’m in the former camp).
Of the relatively-close friends I’ve made in my time here, only one is still here.
I see my friends on screens. I look at their Instagram stories driving a newly-acquired used car down the street in Cape Town. I say I’ll visit, but I can’t afford to.
I can only justify the expense of flying across the Atlantic to visit my family, which I’ve done three times now.
I miss the US a bit. I think about going back to LA where I felt alive, but I can’t afford to do that yet either.
I’ve put myself into a sort of purgatory, stuck in the golden handcuffs of quasi-reputational (albeit not financial) success along with the low cost of living. I’m stuck in a city I like but don’t love. I’m stuck in a society that I will never truly be a part of, no matter how well I learn their language.
I’m four years out of university, and life is what it is. When you have true freedom of choice, you can get stuck. That’s how I feel — stuck.
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