I’ve been taking stock of my life lately, and as what usually happens when I go through this process, a slight sadness has settled into my routine. Nothing major, only the after-effect of my directionless existentialist musings. I’ve been looking at the things I find important right now, and I weigh them from different perspectives. Sometimes I feel like I’ve made mostly right choices; sometimes I feel like I’m in a rut that I need to get out of; mostly, well, mostly I’m just undecided. What am I doing with my life? Where am I going?
To be perfectly honest, this blog has been something of an anchor for me. It’s nice to think that someone out there is actually listening to me, when I air these things that usually pervade my mind. I don’t know, I just feel… restless. Rudderless. Lost.
When I was younger, I realized that I lived my life in cycles of highs and lows, in an almost too predictable way that, if I were to chart my life, I would definitely see a pattern of repetitive peaks and valleys. I tried to understand my motivations, and I realized that the reason for this repetition is an almost uncanny need for…drama? I can’t even find a proper word for it. I guess it’s like this: I seem to be unable to be content. For me, contentment breeds restlessness, boredom.
And that’s the funny thing, because even now, after I’ve taken stock of where I am, and how perfect my life is at this very moment, I feel the urge to run away and disappear. Does that make sense? My thoughts are a jumble.
Maybe it’s just the season. Another year has gone by. Maybe this is just nostalgic musings masquerading as pain. I don’t know. Maybe I would feel better in the morning.