Call me crazy…but I like my alone time. I actually cherish it.
I find myself becoming a calmer person when spending time alone. I heal.
Why is that I wonder?
I used to be this social butterfly, constantly surrounded by friend and family. But as the years go by my need for solitude has increased dramatically.
I find myself searching for a career that will allow me to provide for myself as well as grant me the solitude I so desperately desire. Be it working from home, or traveling abroad taking photographs on my own. Sometimes I fantasize about living in a hut on an island along a wooden boardwalk on the water, with nothing but my laptop, camera and nature surrounding me. Documenting it.
Is this a possibility? I feel like I am finally ready to find myself, to figure out who I really am under all this pretense. But I am scared. I am scared to leave behind the things I have grown accustomed to, the people I have come to care, trust and love. But maybe I won’t have to. I guess only time will tell.
“I do not drink.”
At least this is what I tell most people, and for the most part its true. As with most things in life, however, I don’t believe you should ever deny yourself. Pending whatever it is you desire will not harm anything else. So an occasional glass of wine with dinner or a vodka tonic when going out to the bar with close friends, does not cause me to feel like I am a hypocrite. Though others may beg to differ.
I think I make that statement for the simple fact that is allows me to get out of having to socialize. Maybe it makes me feel more superior to other people. I am not sure.
I think that maybe I will stop making that statement and try to live my life in the present instead of the past, changing my opinions as I see fit. Instead of feeling as if I have to stand fast to them, as if some judgement is going to be made against me and I be imprisoned for them. Why do we as human beings feel the need to have to label and identify ourselves? Why can’t we like caviar one day and detest it the next?
I think most of it stems from our society forcing this down our throats everyday in media. I refuse to label myself any longer, I will not be categorized and filed away for someone to pull up my file a minute later and try to shove some other type of purse that I don’t really need down my throat. I don’t want to be able to identify myself with those fake starlets on the magazine covers.
I just want to be me and my only label my name.
I am changing…
It recently occurred to me in a dream that my life isn’t how I expected it to turn out. I sometimes walk around in my waking life and feel detached as if it is all just a fantasy gone horribly wrong. Then I snap out of it and stop feeling sorry for myself and go about my usual stream of daily activities.
I was enlightened today by a friend of mine. I was informed due to my own lack of tack that I am a hypocrite. To an extent it is true, I guess. I advise people to live in the moment and be happy. To steer themselves away from unnecessary negativity, be that friends, lovers, jobs, family. But somehow I seem to constantly find myself in those situations with no hopes of ever resolving the real issues, the reason the issue exists. After evaluating my own situation out loud with them, I have come to realize that I am not truly a hypocrite, I am a settler. I would rather stay in a mediocre situation than venture out into the unknown. I have fear of being left behind, left out, and left in general. I worry about everything. My boyfriend not loving me, my brother moving somewhere and me never seeing him again. Waking up and not being able to call my mother or grandmother for advice, that I won’t follow. But the point is that they are here now, but will they continue being here tomorrow? I worry about people dying next week, today, this minute. Someone once told me that we begin dying the moment we are born. So why do I feel a sense of panic whenever I am left to my own thoughts on this subject? It all boils down to the need to be wanted and accepted. Try as I might, to not care what others think of me, at the end of the day my feelings are hurt even if I pretend that they are not.
Why I am eyore at times and piglet at others. I just wish sometimes I could be pooh.