Sometimes it takes a wrong turn to get you to the right place.
Having wandered aimlessly for far too long, trudging through the muck, stumbling, at times even crawling, desperately inching forward but getting nowhere still, I realize I am lost. I’ve admitted this to myself countless times before. I have always known that this wild lack of direction in my life is problematic. More than this, I have always felt the steady onward beat of time behind me, and it’s never helped; it only serves to remind me that I long to find the place I’m meant to be, and quickly. I crave some endpoint, or if not an endpoint, somewhere on a plateau where I can both enjoy the view and rest my weary mind and body for a moment. I am lost, but I hate that fact. I am lost, wanting more than anything to not be.
So what is the answer? Continuing to wander, crossing roads I’ve already been down and retracing the steps I’ve taken? Following the trail of breadcrumbs I’ve already left behind, hoping this time they’ll lead me somewhere new and exciting and happy? I have no more time for that. Is it swallowing my pride and asking for directions? That might be helpful under certain circumstances, but if no one else knows which destination I want to head towards, then what’s the difference? Lewis Carroll explained that “if you don’t know where you want to go, it doesn’t matter which path you take.” And it May be brilliant advice, but it certainly seems a bit too vague too be of any assistance to me right now. Setting goals based on my fiery passions that can serve as a beacon that will guide me? I’ve tried that. Maybe I just suck at it, or maybe the guiding light just isn’t bright enough. No matter the reason, I need a definitive solution to the predicament I’ve been in for, oh boy, how the hell long now? I need a solution.
I’m going to take two weeks. I’m going to set aside fourteen days of time to completely figure this out, or at the very least to make headway in the process of figuring this out. I will make progress. I will feel good about said progress. I will feel proud of myself (a sensation I haven’t experienced in far, far too long).
This experiment of mine does not come without stressors and fears. I’ll have to work hard, set daily goals, set long-term goals, soul search, be introspective, learn new things, make good use of my time, save my dwindling money stores. I am worried that this will all be for naught, I am worried this won’t make any difference. And I’m worried that nothing out there will ever be able to aid me in this endeavor. I’m worried I’ll be stuck forever.
But, thankfully, this is one of the time periods that I feel capable of positive thoughts and optimistic views. So, I’ll simply shove those negatives out of my head. Beat down the sad and scary thoughts with a stick. Because this will work. This has to work. I’ll make it work, and I know with every fiber of my being that I’m capable of making it work…despite the illness that cripples me, despite the odds being stacked against me, despite the fear sitting undigested in the pit of my stomach. I can fuckin’ do this.
I’ll need a specific game plan, and trust me I plan on making one and making it as detailed as humanly possible. But for now suffice it to say that I’m hopeful again. No one can say how long the hope will last, but it’ll always circle back again. It always does.