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,