During my abandonment of the cyber world these past few months, I was off having professional experiences. Yay me. At some point, I had a passing conversation with a bunch of my fellow coworkers. It was a mundane conversation, the filler type, but we had it nonetheless and for the life of me, I didn’t understand why it continued to flit around in my brain months later.
Essentially the conversation was about parking spaces. Yes, that pathetic. Specifically, we discussed how within a month or two, I would find a parking spot or at least a general parking area where I would eventually park my car. All of my coworkers explained to me that everybody pretty much parks in the same spot every day. Fun fun.
Fast forward six months and I’m still randomly parking in a nonsensical pattern. Sometimes I park in a shaded area, sometimes I park far away to force myself to walk, other times I’m lazy and get as close as I can, maybe I’ll park in the front, the back, the side – I don’t seem to have a designated spot yet. When I noticed this, I wondered if this was some kind of unconscious reaction to that previous conversation.
But it isn’t.
I did the same parking spot dance at my previous job. I never seemed to park in the same spot twice in a row. So, on my drive home, I came to the conclusion that other than being abnormal, there’s something to this whole parking spot dance. Namely, I’m a very restless person. I don’t like doing the same thing all the time and more importantly I crave new sights, sounds and just overall environments.
Maybe everybody has a little restlessness in them and it shows in different ways. Maybe not, I just don’t know. All I do know is that this feeling is there. This craving for the unknown. This burning desire to embark on new experiences.
And it terrifies me just as much as it excites the hell out of me.
For some time now, I’ve noticed that even though I consider myself a writer, I’ve been barely scraping by in the writing department. Me, the person who usually writes letters and stories and poems has now suddenly taken a step back. And surprisingly, I’m okay with this. And that’s what scares me – how okay I am with not writing. It’s to the point where I don’t even have to rationalize with myself because I don’t feel the need to make excuses. I just don’t want to write.
It seems like I’ve become too restless and for the first time writing isn’t enough. I want to live, to experience, to truly grow.
So that’s what I’ve been doing. Even though I’m an extremely cautious person, I do believe in following your instincts and listening to your inner spirit. So I’ve let myself live as much as I can given my circumstances. And you know what? I’m having a blast! I’m really living and feeling every moment for what it’s worth.
These past months have been a definite highlight in my life and I can’t wait to move forward. I’m starting to realize that I have more dreams than just being a published writer (albeit that’s the main one) and it’s okay to strive for other goals without the need to feel guilty for abandoning writing. Because I haven’t abandoned writing – I just realized that it’s not my sole purpose in life anymore.
So now I’m at that funky place between living life and writing. I’ll keep you updated on how it goes.