The last two years - maybe more - has put me through the wringer. I have been forced to confront disappointments, insecurities, borderline financial crisis, loneliness and isolation. I have been through one meaningless relationship that went one step further in cementing my fear of being incapable of really connecting with another person and thus being alone forever. I have questioned my talent, my professional capabilities, my abilities to forge any kind of meaningful relationship. I have also forgiven others and myself a lot - so that’s one good thing.
But right now, on my way to a much deserved break, I find myself sitting at an airport, hearing multiple languages being spoken around me as I sip wine and notice I haven’t uttered a word apart from ordering said wine… And I find that I’m scrambling to find an identity. Back home, my my biggest conceit is that I always have a story running through my head; fictional characters whose fate lies in my hands, so much more interesting than real people. At this moment, however, I’m hard-pressed to come up with anything remotely interesting. On the contrary, my thoughts revolve around how easy it would be to just start again - new place, new people, new job, new identity, new friends - a chance to reinvent everything I am and could be.
Barring a few exceptions, at this moment, I could disappear from my life and not miss a single thing. After so many years of living, I think that’s a terrible state of affairs.