I always joke that “this can’t be life” whenever crazy, illogical, or incredulous things happen to me. It was never too serious, just a fleeting acknowledgment of the myriad inconveniences that are thrown my way in the midst of me living my so-called life.
Unfortunately, I noticed that I now use the term multiple times a day, and the laugh factor behind the phrase is missing. What once was a chance to poke fun at my misfortune has turned into a plea of sorts, akin to me begging the universe to pump its breaks.
This, certainly, cannot be my life. Except it is. Every day, I wake up a little more resigned to my reality than I’m comfortable with. I guess this is a part of the process of becoming what I imagine as a full-fledged adult, but I always expected more. More contentment. More happy moments. More satisfaction. But it’s just not there. Instead, I have a plethora of feelings that more often than not involve second-guessing the major moves I’ve made recently and fearing what trajectory those moves have put me on.
Part of me knows I have to wait and see how things work out. The reality is that it’s completely at odds with my need for immediate results. My momentary dissatisfaction might give way to a feeling of belonging, happiness, and a host of other feelings that signify that I’ve done the right things, if I give time the chance to work out the kinks. But part of me fears that I made the wrong move and I’m just walking head-first into a bottomless pit of emptiness if I’m not perceptive enough to realize the erorr of my ways before it’s too late. Sigh. That will NOT be my life. I really can’t let that happen.
But what if it already has? :-/