A woman, a dream, a world.

It’s not that I want to be the best.
I just want to do the best I can,
with this body
with this mind
with this soul,
Here on earth
In this moment.


I’m struggling with a few things. Namely, the feelings of inadequacy I’ve been harboring for a few weeks now. I’ve become muddled in morose reflection, mostly about life's inconsistencies and my invariable and undeveloped potential.

I think back at the potential I had as a young kid, of the potential I had as a high school graduate. I was motivated, gifted, and had just uncovered a plethora of opportunity so to act upon those attributes. I wish I would have continued my focus on writing. And literature. Instead, I got swept up in other things- in EVERYthing - at once, my curiosity both enlightened and betrayed me, beseeching me to implore every other possibility of study. I've never stuck to anything long enough to become great at it...

Is that really a bad thing, though? I know I chastise this aspect of my self frequently, but it's something I can hardly suppress. I’m mostly comforted by the thought that if I really set my mind to it, I could accomplish wondrous feats. Ugh. But that makes me sounds like one of those high school stoners when responding to their apathy towards academics. They kid themselves into thinking they’re leading meaningful lives just because they can think meaningfully when they're high.

Am I kidding myself?


Or is thinking meaningfully and peacefully enough? Does living a happy and complacent life, independent of action, make the world a better place? My self-indulgent idea of a perfect life has always been to live in a charming villa (or rundown studio) in Italy, philosophizing, cooking, and writing. I would live hopefully and patiently, off freelance writing, teaching English, and maybe even nightclub singing. And I would own a quaint little flower shop in a piazza. I would live a satisfying life, I think, in this way.

But would it be remarkable?

I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if I didn’t do anything to impress my being onto the world. I don’t need to be a renowned scientist/author/activist/actor/musician. I don’t need fame or notoriety. But to have some kind of legacy, even a small one, and to know I used my capabilities as a human being to influence as much as I could, would allow me to climb into my death bed in peace.

…which is why I’m feeling so restless with my current locale and situation. I’m living the life I never wanted to lead, replaying the same routine day in and day out and contently satisfying only survival standards. I justify this life by affirming it is simply a “time-out” for me, a retreat and rehabilitation of sorts, which has allowed me to rededicate myself to a few foundational values and mature enough to commit to one thing, if not somethings.



But what now?


I can't continue like this, without stimulation, without passion, and without novelty. Thinking too much and doing too little. I'm driving myself mad. Can you tell?



On my mind right now:
"Fix It"- Ryan Adams