A friend wrote a post that inspired this endless, self-centered comment, so I thought I'd keep it here.
Discontent, I think is an apt word. I wonder, though, would that have come eventually? Now I feel old and jaded. I look back at my old self and her rose-colored glasses, how I willed them to stay put on my face. But does that come with age? Or is it just being grown-up? Knowing that there will always be something -- or someone -- missing?
I whinge on about having lost my passion, about being disillusioned, but sometimes I wonder if that's not an excuse for really diving into something again. Risking the rose-colored view, the hope, again.
Perhaps this new small city (where my friend will be moving soon) will hold the opportunity for feeling content professionally. This may sound terrible, but I wish I had been further along in my studies, in my career when everything screeched to a halt. Sometimes it feels like I don't have the wherewithal to get back on the horse and finish the final lap (or whatever metaphor fits) -- perhaps if I had been closer to the end, I could have limped on. Right now, it feels like I'm stuck on the ground, wondering how invested I am, and how much I'll waste if I just stay where I am, sitting in the dirt. Or, perhaps, where I can get from here.