Today, I feel kind of guilty for writing these pensive-bordering-on-morose entries because I know my life is great and I shouldn’t whine and lots of people would kill for what I’ve got.
To those people who feel the need to remind me how lucky I am, I hear ya. I really do.
I’m just trying to articulate how despite having seemingly everything going for me, I still have plenty of disappointments and concerns and a scarily intangible life plan. My problems might be #whitegirlproblems but that doesn’t make them any less significant to me. I’m not actually comparing my difficulties to serious issues – I recognize that a rough day at work is not on par with global strife, it just hits closer to home.
I get to angst about meaningless issues because I have no real ones to stress about. It’s a privilege.
I’m not hungry or homeless or in debt. I’m not unemployed or friendless. I’m not addicted to drugs or dying of diseases. I have a lovely life. And I’m grateful. I am. I just know that there’s more than this and I’m not sure if I can wait for whatever that is or if I have to actively seek it out. And where does one start looking…?
I’m acutely aware of time passing me by and I want – I really, really want – to slow it down so I can focus on what makes me over-the-moon-happy and then pursue that. I spend so much time worrying about what’s less-than-perfect in my life that I don’t have time to sit down and figure out how to maximize the goods and minimize the bads.
Before I can get what I want, I need to figure out exactly what that is. And for some reason, no matter how many lists I start and then abandon in the notes section of my iphone, it continues to elude me.
Today, my only want is to know what I want.