Where do we go from here?
Where is here, anyway? Where are we? And what are we doing? It’s 8:30 on a Friday night and I’m watching Gilmore Girls episodes on Netflix (Even though I own all seven seasons). I’m in a constant mind battle with myself. Do more. Be more. IMPRESS YOURSELF. etc. etc.
Let’s back up a little bit.
Toward the end of September I quit my full time bank job. I left behind benefits, an okay salary (not okay enough to afford to live on my own but getting there), a supervisor position and almost six years worth of experience as a teller. I’d like to say that I quit to become a full time writer, to support myself solely online (from how often I update this blog you can tell that’s not it) or become an entrepreneur. I’d like to say I quit so I could work full time in a library in a position of my dreams, as that’s what I’m working on a degree for.
I quit for freedom and time. I left structure so I could have a little instability. I needed flexility and a few seconds to become myself. I left to work as a barista. I left for less pay and less hours. Benefits are coming, sometime in the future, fortunately. I left in hopes of finding something library-like to supplement. Internships are impossible to find. Job postings are mostly for positions that are hours away, or way out of my experience range.
So now what?
I keep on working at it. I’m happy I left. I feel like I’ve found people I can relate to. I have access to too much coffee and lots of sugary syrups to flavor those drinks. And espresso.
My car always smells like coffee, and I like that.
Then I dated a guy for a month until he went to California to visit his brother and decided to stay there. (And to tell me on my birthday).
And now I’m here trying to remind myself to write, to breathe and to be. I’m trying to remind myself to take advantage of the extra time that I find myself. I’m trying to stop myself from spending a lot of money on food, from eating things that make me feel sick. I’m trying to. I don’t know. But at least I’m trying, right?
I want to feel reconnected to something. I miss dancing. I miss devouring books. I miss reaching out and reaching back and high fives and following dreams. I miss something.
And I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.