And he found me in a peculiar fugue, dear friend. It would seem that my mood slingshots from hyper-happy to furious to stressed beyond measure (which is accompanied by the urge to burst into tears). In between there are bouts of serenity, usually when I’m curled up in a quiet corner, reading something, or while at a coffee shop, people-watching. I used to despise early 20th century literature for the proclivity of its characters to wax poetic over the futility of existence, yet never actually doing anything to shake things up. Now I fear that this is what my outer existence has become. (My mindscape is as busy, loud and chaotic as ever. And thank gods for that!)
It could be spring blues. Or it could be further confirmation that 2016 is out to screw us over. Whichever school of thought I find myself inclining towards each day (like I said: chaotic mind) I think I’ll aim for more of those peaceful moments. I know that the next couple of years will result in more stress than what is definitely healthy for anyone. So let’s see: maybe if I actually try to find these short retreats I will eventually not feel guilty for taking a break. Maybe even not feel like I’ve wasted my day if I roll out of bed after eight.
Will I still be infuriated by the words “Don’t worry/panic about it”? No doubt. Will I still daydream of trips that I have neither the money nor the time for? For certain. Will I still find any social interaction with people I’m not familiar and comfortable with (and that is a short, short, short list) tedious at best, terrifying at worst? Why are you even asking? But maybe, just maybe, at the end of the day I will also be able to go to bed at night and not feel like I accomplished nothing. Maybe (if I’m very lucky) I’ll be able to look at a person and read their thoughts from their expression, not my projected fears and insecurities. I dream small because I have found that mountain-high dreams only result in crushing disappointment.
After all I could care less about being great. I just want to be happy.