utensil birds

Today Nassim wanted to unpack a few boxes I had left in the corner since we moved in.
I surmised the reason I never went through them was in fear of what thoughts it would bring back to unpack them.

Not even what it could bring back, but what it reminds me that's still inside of me. A lingering sadness for times past. A longing for the best and worst time in my life. Travelling in Paris, feeling inspired, learning about literature and art and French culture. Writing speaking and hearing only French. Lost, but so found. I was always plagued by a feeling of impending doom for the future though, that I could never shake. In my idle time I couldn't enjoy- I only thought I was wasting time and wished I could just work, work work work to get somewhere. I wanted a jumpstart on my career path. I always wanted to mature, to be older than I already was.

Now that I have that, and it's killed the sensitivity I always struggled with because I have nothing but focus for my job, sometimes it hurts to sink into those thought bubbles that remind me of how much I used to feel, and how little time I have to do that now. Worst of all, it reminds me how great those times were. Nostalgia, a killer. I'm so susceptible. My job now doesn't give me the opportunity to remember the past or ruminate beyond what's going on immediately because it moves so fast, but now I'm re-evaluating. Do the people around me feel the way I do? Are they as drawn to culture and moved by art? Do they experience the same things I do? The answer is no.

I always thought it would be cool to meet the people I'm meeting now, I fantasized about having the sort of life I have now- fast paced and professional. But now that I have it, I only miss how life used to be. How sensitive life used to be. How special life used to be. The moments I used to share with only those I cared about, not forced by professional ties to experience certain events that mean nothing to my core. My values don't feel solid, I only pretend. I'm tired of pretending. I just want to be.

I was lost when I was found, then I found what I lost, and now I'm neither lost, nor found.

Where do I go from here?

I want to love, I want to explore, I want to feel again. I want it all back. But part of me is afraid, and part of me doesn't want it back now that I've come so far in a routine. All I wanted was order back then, and now I just want the disorder, the freedom, the inspiration.
I don't want to care anymore about what I don't care about. Because the truth is, I just don't care.