Feeling Directionless

I’ve been feeling very directionless lately. After a long weekend in Minnesota with my family, I got back to Atlanta. I dreamt about my old job that first night. It makes sense, given that the apartment I live in is also where I worked, where I spent 11 weeks indoors during the pandemic, not leaving once, drowning myself in my job. On my flight back to America, I had created a vision of all of the things I wanted to do while I was back home, of the things I wanted to write, the tasks I needed to accomplish, of the new lifestyle I was going to create. But within 48 hours, I was stuck. I had fallen back into some old habits that I thought I had rid myself of. It’s strange, I could sit at a local café anywhere in the world, like I am now, and just write, and write, and write. I could come up with and execute on so many ideas, yet in the comfort of my very expensive apartment, I was at a standstill. I don’t know what this means, or what to do with it, but I recognize it and it gives me something to ponder.

Comparing Myself to Others

I’m at a point where I feel very lost, wondering what I am trying to accomplish with this journey that has taken so many different shapes over a very short period of time. I see friends, family, and colleagues who seem to know exactly what they want out of life, and they are going after it…and getting it. How can someone be so confident in their life choices and know that at the end of their life they will have done everything they wanted to? I envy you all, and that’s a feeling I’m not used to.

Planning My Next Trip

I spent a solid two days putting together the next jaunt of my journey. My passport was almost full and I didn’t want to travel over one of the oceans, so I chose a few places left in South America and the Caribbean. It was a last-minute trip that I somehow cobbled together. This would be a distraction, if nothing else, and I am hopeful that some time by the water will help to clear my head.