I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For
Well, don’t be fooled by the title – even though I started writing this post on Valentine’s day, it’s not going to be about men and love affairs; however, it is about a certain matter of the heart.
It started again yesterday evening, after a few weeks of peace of soul and mind. I was at a restaurant with some friends and we started talking about films, teeth (yes, teeth, don’t ask!), sleeping, jobs, books; in the middle of the evening we somehow got to the subject of money and how our life would change if we had heaps of them. Whilst the possessor of the most beautiful green eyes in the entire country stated she would be a better person and other friends argued that money bring depersonalization and estrangement from the real world, I was re-living a feeling I have been trying to shut deep down inside for quite a while: you see, I was thinking that being rich would free me and allow me to live my own life.
Earlier in the evening my friends laughed at my crazy thought to escape this crazy life by being committed to a lunatic asylum or by going to prison on a minor offence – say stealing 2 pieces of bread (it seems that in my country it is the act of stealing that matters, not really what it’s being stolen). They might have considered it funny, and I myself enjoyed making fun of it, but the thing is I was rather serious in my desire to break free and find tranquility.
It isn’t the first time I’ve had this thought and as I am not particularly proud of it, I have consistently tried to ignore it, to mask it and to deny it. You see, I now know that I am a natural-born hedonist and yet I keep fighting it. I’ve been brought up in a hard-working, serious, somber family. I have been taught that I have a duty and that duties should come first in life. I have been proud of this upbringing, which I considered to be the solid, healthy basis of my development, the sound, firm ground for my life frame. Due to my upbringing, I thought that the mature thing was to endure things. I didn’t count on being passionate about what I did, as long as I didn’t hate it either. Feelings and contentment were not that important,I just didn’t think about such things as real, but as mere lifeless inhabitants of a sweet fantasy world. That is why I felt guilty when imagining how it would be to bring them to life and just say: the hell with it all!
I feel divided, as a part of me thinks I am being immature, slipping back into my childhood skin when things get though; the other part is just so thirsty for freedom, peace of mind and living la dolce vita. So truth be told: I don’t know if I want to continue doing what I do for a living. Just saying it out loud seems such an impertinence! It is not the place or time to get into details, but mainly there are two reasons: pressure and that sometimes I just feel like a fake who doesn’t belong there. The major problem is I also have no idea what I want to do instead. I just feel like my present job is both not enough anymore and too much: there is too big a price on my life, on my peace of mind.
And as friends have the habit of turning up when you need them most, Clover dearest was there. She told me something that was so wise and normal that I knew it was true the moment she said it (thank you, Clover <3!): a career refers to an activity and not to an identity. It’s not what you do but who you are that defines you. So now I am asking for an idea. I don’t know whom I am asking it from or what could be the source of this idea, but I just want to formulate it and to throw it out there, just like planting a fistful of seeds. Alea iacta est, my friends! Keep your fingers crossed for a good crop :D!