I’m in a holding pattern. At least, I think I am. I have my little routine, I go through my tiny dead motions, over and over again, cutting up space and time into small slivers of nothing important repeatedly: daily, weekly, monthly. I’m not where I want to be. I feel like I’m wasting my life right now. We’re only afforded so much time alive; should I really be living the equivalent of a missed exit on the freeway right now, with miles and miles to the next one? More importantly, should I really be mixing metaphors?
At least, that’s what it feels like. Feeling isn’t fact. It’s feeling. I mean, does anyone get what they want all the time? No. Only sociopaths. And even they probably have to bide their time, rubbing their hands together, smiling gleefully, sitting in wait while our hero unknowingly takes the steps that will lead to his undoing. Yes, even sociopaths have to waste time.
It’s probably perfectly normal to waste parts of your life. Extraordinary to have no corner of it unoccupied with things you love. I know of a couple of other people who are doing shit they don’t really want to do and pursuing shit that no longer seems worthwhile to them. So I’m not alone. These are people I cherish and respect, too. Risk takers. So I know I’m in good company.
I just have to come to some sort of acceptance around it. It’s all right. It’s not especially painful when I don’t struggle. It’s only when I start concentrating on what I don’t have and where I’m not at that I get all butt-twisted about it and dissatisfied. Otherwise I can do my little knitting and my little writing and see my friends and talk on the phone and plan to win lotto and know that someday, this will be over. I don’t have to do this forever. I just have to do this for now. Oh, when I win lotto. How things will change.
Like Muad’Dib, I will bend like a reed in the wind.