Dumbledore then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.
“And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, Adventure.”
Maybe quoting Harry Potter is weird for someone my age, but I don’t care. Hasn’t that been the theme of all my blog entries lately? Not caring?
I am not feeling too trusting right now. So don’t screw this up.
Last week, I wrote about Paris. I have been writing about it, my urge to leave, and my love of adventure. Last week, I actually did something about all of those things and made plans, plans that will change everything. Unlike a lot of my friends and people that I know, I am not ‘tied down’, and I say that in the nicest way possible. On some level, I envy you all that have something worth sticking around for: marriage, children, wonderful content lives. One day I hope that I can feel that content, that happy with myself and everyone around me, because this intense ‘run’ feeling that I carry with me all the time isn’t always fun. Some days, the intensity is almost more than I can deal with.
This is not to say that I don’t have an amazing life, because I absolutely do. I live in a beautiful apartment, I have good friends, and the job that I have always needed and wanted. I have a wonderful life, but even with all that I have, something has always been missing. I have always known it, I have always felt it, and I have always dined/slept/laughed/cried/skipped/ran/walked around with it. I started to actually deal with this feeling when I spent my summer in California, and again that winter when I moved to Washington. “Make no mistake, moving is living.” I felt that if I moved enough (and not just ‘literally’), and saw enough, and experienced enough, the feeling would pass. The early twenties are supposed to be like that, right? You’re supposed to learn and move and grow, until you ‘figure it out’. Right?
The only thing I really ‘figured out’ was that feeling wasn’t going to pass, and it wasn’t just a phase I was going through. Sure, I needed to find out what I was made of, and I did. I needed to uncover some important personality traits, and I did. I definitely needed to discover my self worth, and I did. I have never been able to shake my restless feeling though, and at twenty eight, I am still feeling it as strongly as I did at twenty. Simply put: I want more.
I told my sister about Paris today, and the first thing she did was say how concerned she was about me. It constantly blows me away that I know what I am made of, and I know what I am worth, but that other people don’t. Whatever vibe I give off to people, it must be one of incompetence, or some confused little girl. Let me make the point that I am not going off to Paris (alone) to “find myself”, but “say hello” to myself. Why it causes alarm, or makes people worry, I don’t know. It actually irritates me, and in some childish way, makes me want to say ‘fuck off’. I don’t like being alone because I feel alone, I like being alone because I like being alone. Maybe because I feel like I am smart, capable, funny, and a hell of a conversationalist. I actually like being friends with myself, I actually enjoy making myself laugh with all the stupid stuff that runs through my head. I definitely value deep friendships and other people, but I like being alone, and if that is the definition of a narcissist, well so-fucking-be it.
In the deepest parts of my mind, I feel alone without anyone to tell all of this to, but that’s what this blog has become. My sounding board when there are none.
Paris is not going to solve anything for me. It’s been a place I have always wanted to visit and experience, and now I am going to get the chance. I will not come back ‘cured’ of any desires to run away, but I am slowly starting to realize that this will be something I battle for the rest of my life. Maybe I not destined to live some spectacular life, making giant wonderful contributions to the world, but at least I will have lived for something bigger than myself.
That feeling of glorious free falling.