I’m back in the weird state where I’m not sure if I’m content or unmotivated anymore. As of late, I’ve been rather busy with work and getting lost on city buses, which is always fun and should be impossible considering cell phones are a thing. There have been a couple of moments where I got to have time stand still a little bit, giving me a chance to take in my surroundings and meditate a little bit.
I took a walk Friday evening, from Cambridge to Boston and got to trek across the Longfellow Bridge giving me one of the more beautiful views of the city I have seen so far and in that walk I got to just enjoy what I was doing because I didn’t have the pressures of time telling me I have to go so I can do something else that night. Or I need to squeeze every hour of enjoyment out of now that I can because I have to work tomorrow. Between a week of training that lead to self-doubt as I took in lots of information that I didn’t really understand followed by a 12 hour shift where I actually had to apply those many hours of knowledge I became rather exhausted and it was nice to have a moment of clear headedness. The full day of work was great. I actually got some reassurance that I can sell even with my social anxiety and I connected with customers and new coworkers but even in that positivity I still grew very tired.
Today I got to close my weekend with an hour or two on the beach where I just sat and meditate and possibly fell asleep but in the time I was conscious I started to wonder about what direction I wanted my life to go in. For a long time I wondered about if writing was what I was “meant” to do or more specifically if fiction writing was what I wanted to do. I found all these signs, like what I enjoyed in childhood and my imagination and took them as surefire signs that I was supposed to do it but I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t decide I wanted to do that because it would be a cool job and a cool thing to say I did. I’ve lately found it difficult to write fiction and while the process of thinking of a story is fun the process of writing it is monotonous and I find myself only wanting to write for others and not for me. And while I’ve expressed that issue many times I’m starting to wonder if it means I don’t really want to write that type of thing anymore.
I still enjoy writing. I enjoy when a piece flows and I like posting my blog stuff when I can but I don’t know if I actually enjoy writing my 100 plus page stuff. It kind of feels like a crossroads as I search for what I want to do with my life and as I try new things and overcome new fears I guess I’m stuck wondering what my next challenge is because right now the writing thing almost feels forced upon myself. It’s exciting to realize with full consciousness that you might want something new for yourself but it’s frustrating because I have no idea what that new thing is at the moment but, at the very least I got to take a nap on a beach and a seagull didn’t poop on my face so I win the day.