Delays
So, much to my chagrin, I have been unable to find enough fodder to keep three blogs going. What is this world coming to? Not that there was ever much to say here, in this place of personal disaster. But, eh, it's been an entertaining ride for me so far.
I am finding it harder and harder to imagine that awaits me. Maybe, because, in the confusion of the years that have just passed, I find myself knowing less and less about what I want, who I am. Is this the quarter-life crisis I am to supposedly fear? Is this the existential inquiry I was supposed to face? Seems like a big bother, really.
Time gathers steam as you get older, and suddenly there doesn't seem to be enough, or that it has just sped up to an unreasonable pace. That is what I find, now, as I sit here, fearing the future and what I won't accomplish. Or what I might. Maybe inspiration will come, but if not, what will substitute?
Flying to the states and back, all within a week, has left my brain in a tailspin, thinking itself to be in a place it is not. And that's what I am beginning to think about my life in general. I am living in a place that I shouldn't be, as a person that I am not. I feel suddenly uncomfortable in my skin, when I look into a mirror. I see a stranger, not myself, and I am not sure quite how that happened, only that it has.
If anything else, perhaps this year in London has be a delay for the final confrontation, the final realization that I've taken myself far away from where I wanted to be. The dogged pursuit of a profession that I know I'll never really love. I can hope that this delay works differently. That I'll soon understand why I haven't given up, yet. But a delay is just that,a delay. Sooner or later, the future arrives. And with it, decisions you wished you didn't have to make.
I am finding it harder and harder to imagine that awaits me. Maybe, because, in the confusion of the years that have just passed, I find myself knowing less and less about what I want, who I am. Is this the quarter-life crisis I am to supposedly fear? Is this the existential inquiry I was supposed to face? Seems like a big bother, really.
Time gathers steam as you get older, and suddenly there doesn't seem to be enough, or that it has just sped up to an unreasonable pace. That is what I find, now, as I sit here, fearing the future and what I won't accomplish. Or what I might. Maybe inspiration will come, but if not, what will substitute?
Flying to the states and back, all within a week, has left my brain in a tailspin, thinking itself to be in a place it is not. And that's what I am beginning to think about my life in general. I am living in a place that I shouldn't be, as a person that I am not. I feel suddenly uncomfortable in my skin, when I look into a mirror. I see a stranger, not myself, and I am not sure quite how that happened, only that it has.
If anything else, perhaps this year in London has be a delay for the final confrontation, the final realization that I've taken myself far away from where I wanted to be. The dogged pursuit of a profession that I know I'll never really love. I can hope that this delay works differently. That I'll soon understand why I haven't given up, yet. But a delay is just that,a delay. Sooner or later, the future arrives. And with it, decisions you wished you didn't have to make.