hmm...

I always feel inspired when I'm driving. Why? Is it because I have time to think, time to breathe, time to decompress? Why is it that when I'm alone with my thoughts, free from phones ringing, work to finish, clothes to wash, or a house to clean, I could write a 1000 page dissertation on any given subject. However, today, as I sit and think: I should write something today-- I'm unispired. Lackluster.

On days like today when I seem to find myself in an "existential funk," I find it helpful to identify the feelings I'm experiencing. Today, for example, I feel cynical. Regardless of the reasons leading up to this feeling, that's where I've arrived. Cynicalville.

As an adolescent and even a young adult, I had these silver-lined ideologies that I held true. You know, the fairytale endings, perfect world, love-conquers-all ideologies. Today, however (also, I find it strange that on particularly cynical days I use the word "however" a lot...hah) I feel disillusioned, negative, and borderline hopeless.

Is it possible that along this road called life our pit-stops, also known as life experiences, are the source of our current jaded outlooks? What happened to those feelings of zealous wild-abandon and the yearning to dance in the rain and throw caution to the wind? When it comes to matters of life and love, is experience the enemy?

Would you rather go through life never having experienced real sorrow, real betrayal, real disappointment and retain your happy-go-lucky, everything is going to be okay mentality, or does that same disappointment and pain make the pleasure sweeter?

What would you rather?

realizations

So, I've realized something fairly significant about myself: I'm uneasy unless I have a project on which to focus my attention. If I'm unoccupied with a purpose or task to complete, I become undone at the seams. While in college, although I may have bitched about the obscene amount of work I drudged through, I felt fulfilled because I had a defined and obtainable goal. I knew what I was supposed to do, and I did it. Now, as I've recently slipped into a realm of contentment, I wonder why it is or what it is that produces this sort of inner compulsion.

My husband and I have been, in the last four months and under the direction of a contractor, in the process of remodeling a home from the studs up. Because this sort of activity requires painstaking attention to detail and mountains of time, I've been pleased with these tasks at hand. However, now that the process is nearing the end, (so excited!) I find myself rummaging around in the ol' imagination trying to find my next project. Why? Why can't I just breathe, relax, reboot, and enjoy? The fact that I've realized this trait (or whatever it is) screams NEUROSIS, but oh well. There are worse things to be, I suppose.

So, what's next? I will venture out in my first professional conquest. I'm becoming a realtor.

[I could go off on a tangent here about how in high school counselors should have their asses kicked for not spending more time with students educating them about futuristic choices both educational and vocational, and how not everyone needs a four year degree to become successful, but I guess that's a whole other post entirely. Still, I could've saved my parents a fortune and myself a whole lot of time. Blah.]

I can only hope and believe that this certification and profession will satisfy my hunger, and that I'll be happy in a professional capacity free of the little voice inside encouraging me to jump out there on another limb. Afterall, only two months after obtaining my teaching certificate, I then decided it simply wasn't for me. Will this be it? Stay tuned.