My writing has certainly diminished as of late. I want to say it’s because my anxiety has lessened and it certainly has from the days before my move. But the anxious thoughts are certainly there. I think I just ran out of different ways to talk about butt cheeks….okay, I won’t revisit that strangeness.
As of late my anxiety feels more mundane. I have my typical ruminating thoughts but it’s over the same stuff I constantly fear. I don’t want to run out of money, I wonder about my health and I don’t always feel as thought I’m living life to the fullest. Those are definitely issues in themselves but they are fears that I repeat constantly and I’m kind of tired of both speaking about such anxieties and I’m way more than tired of dealing with them.
The last week or so I’ve dealt with extreme frustration as I get to a more stable time period of my life. I’ve spoken of the lack of motivation when it comes to creative endeavors and how I’m not even sure I want to be a creative writer anymore but I’m struggling more and more with how to replace that. When the decision was made to move from South Bend, Indiana to Boston, Massachusetts I felt like overcoming what was a massive amount of fears would lead to something great immediately. It was like, a giant move to a large city where I knew nobody was an understandably fearful thing but by going through the scary and stressful thing by figuring out how to move, getting a better paying job and looking for ways to enjoy my new city instead of retreating into the house and depressing myself constantly by staring at Facebook or whatever else for hours a day my life would magically get better.
In some ways it absolutely has. I’ve been successful at my new job in my early days and every weekend I have found ways to discover something new for little money but I can’t help but feel more lost. I feel as though I took these giant leaps and the reward is….I need to take more fucking leaps and while I have learned to do scary things I am at a point in my life where I don’t know what the next scary thing is. For the past 7 years I’ve hung onto this dream of “I’m going to write this story” or “I’m going to write this book.” and I’m going to make it big presenting myself with a large hurdle that just needs to be overcome and I will get the success I’ve searched for. With the realization that I may not actually want to be a creative writer I’m left asking myself what I want to do and that frustrates me as there is no big goal in front of me and it leads me to feel as though I’m living a life with no purpose.
It the last few months I really felt as though I’ve been growing but in the last few weeks it’s hard to feel as though this is true as my anxiety returns and a little bit of depression tried to come through today. I am reverting to my old habits and not connecting to new people I work with like I had hoped and I still haven’t joined any sort of group like I had intended since I’ve moved here. I guess you could say that I’m in a rut and I’m unsure as to how to escape it. My plan is to meditate again though with the long hours I’m working it feels tough to fit that in. I guess the lesson to learn is that any successful journey isn’t taken on a linear path and while that seems cliche sometimes it takes experiencing the cliche to actually understand why something like that has been said before. I plan on continuing my journey and there is a small part of me that feels as though I will do great things….I’m just too tired to tap into that at the moment.