Lost

Every time I think I know what I want, my mind tries to tell me I’m wrong, that I want something else…I need to quiet all these voices that try to make me doubt myself. Every time I think I know where I want to be, to live, I doubt myself, and change my mind. I seem to be unable to decide the course of my life. Part of me wants to just try and live a relaxed west coast life, where I stop worrying about everything. But then there’s the part of my mind that keeps pushing me to Europe and grad school and adventure…I just don’t know. Maybe neither of these things will happen. Maybe I will end up living in New England near the ocean and a lighthouse and be a writer there. Maybe I’ll move to Los Angeles and eat organic food, do yoga on the beach at sunrise, and have a high powered career. Maybe I’ll go to grad school, and then move to Paris and work in a café, and become an ex-pat writer like Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Maybe I’ll move to Nashville and meet a musician and have some babies. Maybe I’ll move to a small fishing village in Ireland and fall in love with a local man. Maybe I’ll move to Seattle and find a life and career there. Maybe I’ll move to London, and find my heart, wherever I left it, and start all over again. I have no clue. All I know is, I want to live a life I’m proud of, that I am happy with, that brings me joy, and peace.

Days like this, I picture myself back on that cliff in Ireland, staring at the sea, or in Hyde Park on a sunny autumn day, or at a café in Paris on a quiet Sunday morning. I never know where I want to be. Maybe my heart will never be satisfied in one place. Maybe I’ll have to find someone to give my heart to, and that’s where I’ll finally find home.