Going through my old blog, I found this entry from July 2007:
"i am way more than ok with taking this week off from work. i'm ecstatic. thrilled. downright jittery. which is unfortunate. something i do for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week is turning into something i rather dislike, something that brings me down and makes me feel shitty. it's a waste of time, a poor excuse of a job, a filler, nothing more than a facade. maybe once a week i feel like i'm doing something worth while. the rest of the time i'm arranging appointments or balancing a fricking credit card. i want a job that gets me out and makes me live, forces me to interact in a more meaningful way. i always thought i'd prefer a job that's tucked away in a corner and has little contact with the outside world, but the older i get, the more i realize that that type of job could be dangerous for me. i'm quite reclusive as it is, so i need something to push and shove me out, otherwise my whole life will become a dark little corner that rarely emerges, secluded and alone. and i don't want that. i'll create it easily, but i don't want it. i'm very good at convincing myself that life is easier and less scary with as little outside contact as possible, but lately i've been battling in my head with the little part of me that knows the gravity of what i'm missing. and that part is growing every day. isn't your personality supposed to be fully developed by the time you're 20? it feels like a metamorphosis of sorts is trying to take place and a different, slightly intimidating side is struggling to take control and kick the whimpering, lonely side out. i've got to change the way i live or i'm going to be 60 and looking back on all the great stuff i missed or never tried because i was scared to do it alone."
I did it. I succeeded completely and entirely in changing everything about my life, and I did it on my own. I shoved myself onto a plane and plunged into a foreign world and just kept going with it, and now here I am. Congratulations? My life is different from how it was in 2007, but I am not. Not really. It's amusing and maybe a bit sad how very little about me has changed since the night I sat in my downtown apartment, which I still sometimes miss, and typed the above entry. Deep, dark, empty holes still feel so safe to crawl into and hide, silent and calm. Today, I thought about the things that keep me company when I am alone. The wind, the sun, my piano, my favorite coffee mug, the sounds of my apartment, the pictures I have taken, the words I have written, letters and trinkets from my family and friends. Companionship is probably defined as something between two living beings, but I question that. I easily feel accompanied by memories and thoughts, sounds and light. I am, actually, rarely alone. Perhaps the biggest difference between the 2007 me and the 2014 me is that the drive to push myself into unfamiliar territory, to change myself, is wearing thin, as most things do over time. I am a person who feels safer alone in a corner. Need I fight that? Should I feel ashamed by that just because most people have somehow toughened up over time and I haven't, for reasons unknown? The little devil in me that kicked and screamed for something new and thrilling 7 years ago is all tuckered out, and the desire to be in one place, around people who know and love me, doing a job suited for the reclusive, being myself, free of guilt, and doing so for a long, long while, has finally found me. And despite all these words, I've also come to realize that I don't think I'll ever really feel settled or content. I'll never want to truly be hidden. I'll always feel torn, ducking into the dark corner today, wanting to jump out into the crowds tomorrow. Such is this beast.