One Man's Sardines are Another Man's Brownies

At the beginning of college, I partied from Thursday to Sunday.  I had fun.  Dressing up. Getting hot.  And dancing with my girlfriends from our noses to our toes-es.  You know how it is... fresh from your parent's house, unleashed onto the world with no real responsibilities, and suddenly complete FREEDOM.  I went to an all-girls Catholic high school so I was really... repressed...  I was a good kid but I was in dire need of self-discovery.  I took full advantage of the opportunity.

By the end of college, the parties were all the same.  I was in a relationship, randomly obsessed with naps, and focused on getting into law school.  Suddenly frat boys looked stinky and sweaty, late-night cabs all smelled like vomit, and drunk people were really, really annoying.  By the time I graduated, I was beyond done.  If I forced myself to go to a party, I wore flats, would dance on autopilot, and glare at any guy that danced my way. 

In short, I had outgrown it.  I had partied it all out of my system and was discovering new things that I liked and new ways to make me happy (like naps and wine #thisis30).

Things have been going really well for me in a certain part of my non-writing life recently.  I mean... oddly well.  For some people, it may even be a dream come true.  The only problem is - it's not my dream.  On the outside, I'm kind of like...

But on the inside, I'm more like...

Don't get me wrong.  I'm grateful.  I don't like sardines but if I was starving on a desert island, and all that was left was sardines, I would eat it and thank God I found it.  But if I was forced to eat sardines every night for three and a half years and all I dreamt about was brownies, I'd probably really, really want brownies. 

There is nothing like getting a whole bunch of what you don't want to show you what it is you want. 

Love and Light,


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