Almost a Month

~from studio museum in Harlem~

I’m staring at a box of chocolate hazelnut cookies that I’m very tempted to eat. I can and will eat them because I never deprive myself of anything, but the problem is I wanted to eat them instead of writing. If I reach over and start eating them I’d be so distracted and then reach for my phone and start scrolling and it’d be a wrap so I’m not even going to reach for anything except the letters on this keyboard.

It’s been almost a month since I posted. I think about it everyday. “I should write today, I should write today…” I chant to myself almost every morning and then I don’t. I do write every evening, but it’s just mostly self deprecating gibberish handwritten in my journal. At least I write in a cute journal though with colorful pens so it’s not so bad, right?

It’s never easy for me to share what I write because it makes me incredibly anxious, but it’s a bit easier for me if what I’m writing about is uplifting or interesting. That’s why I tend to write a lot if I’m on a trip because almost everyday I’m doing new and interesting shit. Even if I’m just sitting at the park its cool because it’s a park in another country, sitting at the park in the city I live in? whatever. Even if that city is New York City.

Today marks four months that I’ve been here. Four months of living somewhere that I’ve always wanted to live only to realize that I don’t think it’s for me.

So there’s that.

There’s that piece of information that I’m griping over. Wondering why I would have a desire for something for so long only to actualize it and then boom, nope, nevermind. Like wow, okay. Any freaking way…I feel embarrassed and weird. That feeling when you try something and you don’t “succeed” whatever that even means and you feel defeated and like a failure even though you’re totally not but it still feels that way and you feel like you have to explain yourself to everyone when in reality you absolutely do not but every single day is exhausting and confusing and so incredibly uncomfortable because you are very much uncomfortable but trying to get through it.

My old journalism professor would die over that run-on sentence but it was completely necessary.

Things could change, I could change, I am changing. Growing pains are real. My body doesn’t even feel the same. I’m still heavily grieving my old life and regretting everyday that I left it, but simultaneously happy that I did this because the desire wasn’t going anywhere. I’d much rather feel cringy for doing something I wanted to do then never trying. Never trying is so lame.

Idk. I ate like four of those cookies just now and drank some honey chamomile tea, much needed. I’m so curious about what’s going to happen to me because fuck if I know. I do love the idea of settling somewhere for a while again, I also love the idea of receiving a lump sum of money and going on lots of trips so we’ll see, anything is possible in this world you know.

I’ve never felt so lost before. No idea what to do or where to go. Do I go back to a place I feel is not for me? Do I go somewhere else new and start over there? I don’t fucking know.

Lately I have been getting hyped because I can finally begin to start saving again. Here I go again saving money to change my whole life AGAIN, classic. But whatever! I’m locked in, moisturized, hydrated and listening to my body. I like having a loose plan, and I reluctantly like changing, and I want to try things and continue to have unique experiences and bitch about stuff and buy cute things and write my friends postcards and laugh at myself, that’s what I want to do, so there.