I’ve very much been avoiding this blog post. Everytime I sat down to write it the words didn’t flow together and everything sounded stupid. But I think a part of me just didn’t really want to admit the fact that for the very first time in my life: I am lost.
I am lost in every sense of the word.
I don’t know what I want to do, where I want to live, who I want to know. For all of my life I’ve always been the person who always knew exactly what I wanted to do. I was always sure of myself.
It was …finish high school, go to college, and become a reporter.
Well I did just that. And I realized it’s not what I want.
A year into the job I suddenly started freaking out that I was never going to leave; that I was never going to do all the things I wanted to do.
I was scared I was becoming much too comfortable with where I was. I suddenly had these thoughts of…”oh I don’t need to move out of Connecticut” and “Working here for the rest of my life won’t be too bad.”
So anyway about a month ago I left. I left for a lot of reasons, but I left mainly to try to finally understand what it is I like to do and where I want to be. The options are endless, but for a while there I was beginning to feel as though the options weren’t even there.
In the month that I’ve been on my “summer vacation” I’ve reconnected with a lot of old friends that I lost touch with. I’m finally having fun.
I’ve climbed mountains (literally), had bbqs, had in-depth conversations about nail art, went on a long drive with the windows down, finally saw of Montreal in Brooklyn, made a new friend, ate corn ice cream (with cinnamon) on Bleeker Street, enjoyed the new york city skyline at night, and primarily just lived.
And for the first time in a long time I’ve actually breathed.