I’ve danced in a nightclub in Montreal until 4am, I’ve ridden on a motorcycle through a bar, I’ve enjoyed my fair share of martinis, I’ve engaged in cholesterol-saturated foods, and so on.
I’ve helped others become more free. Like, I’ve given advice, and those who were in distress heeded it, I’m not kidding. I’ve made someone’s day better, because of my livelihood.
I’ve gotten too used to this way of living, being an extremist all the time, that sometimes, slowing down is hard, almost feels vague in a sense. Like, where’s my sense of purpose if I’m not a whirlwind, dancing in Mexico in a bar until 6am? Where’s my sense of self, if I stay home alone on a Saturday night, and sleep?
It’s nail- biting, riddled with anxiety- the curse of loneliness, or lack of excitement, sometimes.
found: in a bar, a former company’s words to live by
I’ll explain. In one deep breath, I can tell you someone hurt me somewhere, and, to this day, despite mad amounts of self-help books and therapy, all at the expensive of my former employer, I have not healed. How come, I ask, angry, but I challenged myself, but I worked so hard ,but I tried to grow, but I, but I…
Hi. It’s me, well, you. From the future. You’re so tired. Why? Were you out late? Persistence in the form of ‘out-all-night-again-dancing-and-singing’. I will tell you a little secret; life’s better with earlier mornings, less damaging social circles, and meditation, seriously!
And so you have it. The curse of the 20-something, holding onto the last little bit of college town before I succumb to being a proper adult.
My personal growth pattern seems to be stalled in a small, Burlington, college town. Are you similar, do you find it hard to grow past a place, which held all the secrets of your younger self?
At least, someone’s healing, somewhere, from moving on and letting go.