I’ve actually been trying to come up with something to write. If you only knew the things that I wanted to write. That’s what I don’t like about the internet now, it censors me. I have a lot of new stories to tell, but I have to put it to a halt and let it simmer.
Anyhoo…what difference a year makes. Or maybe it’s adulthood making me grow some balls. I used to think that I have this little circle of bubble when I can be myself, unapologetically.
During an internal crisis/dilemma, I fantasize about packing my bags and taking myself to my “old life”. I keep thinking, I feel like I have to breathe out of location, but somehow, I came to realize that the place where I used to hybernate is now ineffective.
Or maybe I have grown up.
I’ve sat between dinner and drinks, listening (because, I’m keeping my last year’s self-promise to listen more and talk less), and then find myself wondering, is it me or have I really outgrown the same stuff I used to hear?
I’m not riding some kind of a high horse or anything but I honestly feel strange not being able to relate anymore and it does not bother me? Am I some kind of a fair-weathered friend? And this is not new to me, because I’ve been fully aware of these kind of stuff. About three years ago, I’ve sat across stories of sorority ladies in their late 30s and early 40s still drifting, some still competing, like they have never outgrown highschool.
Do we really get out of this rut?