These years

Note: Most of this was written 2.5 weeks ago. In general, my outlook has improved, but – this is a glimpse of a momentary reality. Cringe at will.

My birthday was last week.

Damnit. I was so mad.
Not because I had to get up at 4:15 am to open the store. Rather, because it was my birthday.

A year ago, I was helping refugees get married, meeting exciting strangers from other countries IN another country, wandering new cities on a bicycle at night. I was pondering never coming home, using my degree, living the dream, taking public transport. Learning a new language, hopeful that the future could only bring bigger and better things. Digging deep into a community.

Now. I am in a job I detest. A soul-sucking, just-get-me-through-the-day experience I paste on a smile to complete – daily. I am working to overcome a bit of debt, freezing in the impending winter. The days are bearable. The future is my enemy. I drag myself from day to day. I have consumed more alcohol more regularly than ever before, but I forget to sleep – until I sleep for twelve-hour nights. It is not Indiana, nor the Job, that makes life so mind-numbingly anger-inducing. I like to blame them both, but neither is the truth.

This year has brought out some of the worst in me. The most anxiety. The most frustration. The most fear for the future. The most disappointment in myself. The most lack of discipline. The most desire for isolation, while simultaneously grasping at straws for the warmth of a body near me at all times {I am my own worst enemy. Don’t leave me to my own devices.}

Many, many shoesGaining some perspectiveI have this very vague hope that at the end of this strange, uninspiring, helpful or hopeful period of time – I will see something was emerging. Currently, I see more negatives than positives and that is both common to me and disheartening to realize how much the negatives rule my current mentality. This year has been so very much the death of a dream, and I struggle to put into action, or even words, what exactly that is – the dream I’m missing. I have 100 plans for the future, but none are yet in the process of being a reality.

Shoes en masse

Ladies' Shoes

I turned 27 a few weeks ago. Thank God it’s over. Please tell me my 28th birthday will herald more hope. Less isolation. More glimpses of impact rather than personal disappointment. No year is the same. And while it is perfectly true that the DAY of my 27th birthday ended quite nicely, I wholeheartedly believe that I cannot possibly experience a similar birthday next year without losing my very mind.

This year ought to be celebrated. For the hilarity of the chaos. For the shock value of returning, but to nothing I expected. For running again. For steadily chipping away at debt. For having enough money to give. For watching my three nieces grow. For owning a working car, which I bought for one dollar. For having wonderful insurance for less than $150/month. For the fact that while I detest mornings, I am waking up at 4:15 am a few times a week, and no one is suffering for my experience. For making friends with men and women with whom I share nothing, but a passion for kindness. For seeing the good in others, when no one else will. For overcoming fears and considering trust. For relationships. For relearning to dance. For traveling again. For delicious food. For plans. For hope for the future. For everything in life being temporary.

For the fact that there is beauty, even when I’ve forgotten to see it.

This year ought to be celebrated.



One thought on “These years

  1. I understand the feeling more than you realize!!! Miss you… Let’s hang out over my holiday break and drink wine and ponder the world.

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