My life has come to point where I seek further direction needlessly. I have worked so hard to get where I am, but I am unable to enjoy it. Fears and anxieties persist, regardless of the safety I have erected throughout my environment.
The problem is the lingering question: “Is anything truly safe?”
It has come to my attention that sometimes I can treat relationships as a bit of a rush job. I expect to grow close to another person much faster than they may imagine, and I get frustrated by the period of time that is inevitably spent in a sort of superficial stage. To be honest, I don’t see why that stage of friendship necessarily has to exist, if both people are truly interested in getting to know each other.
Beyond my willingness to open up much too quickly, and bare my soul to any new friend that walks my way, I believe this may have something to do with the fact that most friendships expire. If I know I have limited time with someone, then why would I want to dally away the precious minutes we have together? I now see this is an unhealthy perspective, but until writing this post, it had been a pretty subconscious point of view, which is why once again self-reflection, though painful, proves important.
TODAY’S TRUTH: Friendship really shouldn’t be a rush job.
When you look at the difference between successful and unsuccessful creators what do you see?
Does anything stand out?
For me, 2019 is the year of being honest with myself. Last year I told myself a lot of lies. I made a lot of empty promises cloaked in reassured whispers of growth and accomplishment. I thought if I stretched my goals just out of reach, then they would push me to chase them, and I would get more done as a result.
It’s safe to say that didn’t happen. Although I saw, and did so much more than I expected to in 2018, I didn’t maximize my time. Yet, I don’t regret that. Sometimes it’s important for us to be easy on ourselves, even if that means half-assing an entire year, before we’re able to realize a better direction for ourselves.
I’m really struggling right now, because I went to England, where I lived for three months. I grew in ways I hadn’t expected to; I went through pain and joy and love beyond words. Now I’m home, and I’m excited for little things. I’m becoming more self-dependent, in theory and in truth. Moving out, starting a new job, it all adds up to something greater than the sum of my current self.
Still, as I progress along this stage of my journey, I feel more stuck than before.
Life certainly comes at you quick. In retrospect, it really is a rollercoaster ride – ups and downs cycling one after another. As my recent posts have been a bit more moody and sentimental, today’s update is a gratitude list of everything that has made me happy in the past week.
For starters, I laughed my ass off in Manchester, gained about a week on my life from that trip alone. That same weekend, we threw a surprise party for a friend and I ate some of the best (& homemade) pizza I’ve ever had.
As I sit in bed listening to the fictional tick of a clock that reads half-past-twelve, I consider my reality. I think about the thoughts typically encountered at this, truth-be-told, 2 am. See, it’s easy enough to invent tales that deliver a more melodic tempo through utterance, than to write the story that is most sincere.
When all is said and done, the day boils down to a montage of memorable moments: good, bad, sad, and significant. The thoughts that have stuck with me today pertain to my current sociality. Perhaps a selfish set of thoughts to keep, but the truth nevertheless.
Living in limbo may surprise you. Weeks after existing between relationships, treading carefully through newly formed bonds, you find yourself on the edge of intimacy with a number of groups. To which do you choose to commit? Is there a way to engulf yourself in every social circle you fancy, or must you find, and decide, which suits you best?
This is the struggle of new people and places. Fresh faces, refreshing, challenge your sense of stability. What is a place to call home without friendships that bleed red to the bone? Without a map to guide you through this path of poorly cobbled stones?
Distance is as much a cure, as it is a curse.
Monotonous routines, turned through a tiresome system until the element of surprise has become a foreign concept. Space, a much needed respite from the mediocrity of everyday life.
Still, time away transforms into startled cries of realization and unsupported why’s. Learning through lonesome now, an unexpected feat, lack of preparation unsteadies planted feet.
No matter what language you speak, or culture you participate in, you have heard some version of the phrase: everything happens for a reason. This may be the case, but when your final reward is ten degrees distanced from today’s disappointment, it’s difficult to see this way.
A few weeks ago, I had the idea of creating a magazine. MESSY, an independent mag solely focused on spreading the truth. Much alike this blog, I had planned to discuss mental health, to write fun articles that were more a magazine style than anything else I had featured previously here; peeks into the different worlds that exist in the caverns of my mind.
Whereas I had felt that I had lost my voice writing for this blog, I had rediscovered it in the pages of that digital mag. Here’s the sitch: all of my work was inextricably erased, wiped, hours reduced to nothing.