Ernest Hemingway once said that you should never write about a place until you're away from it, because that gives you perspective. I think that's maybe part of the reason why I want to go to Europe so badly. Perspective. I feel like I'm just crawling out of my skin here. I've been at my parent's house for the past few days. It's strange how this house feels less and less like my home. Maybe because I know this isn't permanent. Because hopefully in a short while, once I return from Europe I'll be moving to New York and living in whatever new space I'll be calling and creating to be my home.
And despite all of these thoughts dancing around, despite no shortage of sleepless nights and late night reading and recollecting, I find myself at a loss for things to say or write about. I feel like I just keep tossing the same thoughts back and forth- about growing up, and finding a job, and saying hellos and goodbyes, and trying to move forward with my life. More and more it just feels like I'm running in place, and this treadmill of a life feels tired and worn and dull.
There's that quote that says, "life isn't about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself." I love that concept, though I feel like I don't fully understand it. I feel like despite all of my best efforts and intentions, I'm kind of failing at creating myself. All I really want to be is a good person. I'm trying really hard to be a good person. What does that even mean? Should we really have to try that hard? I think that's kind of a lie. Yes, I want to be a good person. But more than that, I can't help this overwhelming feeling that we're all here for a reason. And it doesn't have to be connected to a religion or a God or some almighty sense of divinity or destiny.
But, there's got to be some reason I'm here otherwise this is all just random? Otherwise, we are all just atoms colliding in space, through time, and we only offer meaning and names to things to justify our existence and our connectivity. That's a whole other dialogue for sure. But still, there's got to be more to it than that. I can't help this overwhelming feeling that I'm meant to love. I just have this ridiculous capacity to love. And it gets me in trouble. It leaves me heartbroken and alone perpetually and repeatedly... but it's there. And I have to believe that some day I'm going to get it right, and this incredible capacity for love won't feel like it's being wasted or misused- but it will be met by another with an equally ridiculous capacity for loving and I'll have found my match and live happily ever after.
Okay, maybe not happily ever after. I know that's a silly school girl fantasy. But maybe all the day dreaming and belief in that kind of love could actually become a reality. And I could stop feeling like I was born in the wrong era, or that I was actually meant to be a fictional character in a Jane Austen novel... and I could just have this life that I want... the love life I want. Hmm, how did we get there?
Or maybe I'm just lonely. And I'm a 22 year old recent college graduate, moving back into my parents' house with no prospective employment opportunities and I'm in this hyper emotional state all the time. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe I've just really hit the lull of this ultra limbo phase of my young adulthood and I'm out of interesting things to write about or contemplate.
Man, I need to get out of here. I need some fresh perspective. I need some excitement, some charging energies.
Either that, or a really good kiss.
Come on, I am a girl after all.
I'm recently read A Moveable Feast again. Maybe that's why that Hemingway quote came to mind. And after all, in his work Hemingway does say, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know." I suppose all I've written here tonight is true. So, that should be more than enough.
More than enough.
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