What I am sure of, though, is that in some ways I feel like I'm losing myself. The last year has been a time of trying a lot of new things, challenging myself, and bursting my bubble, pushing my limits... Is there another conventional way to say that? I don't know. Oh well. Anyways, I am, and have been, and will keep doing so, but maybe differently or less.
I've really learned the benefits to change and to challenge, and whereas I was afraid of them before and felt safer in familiarity, I'm proud to say that although sometimes nerves still show up, they never get the best of me any more. I'm not afraid to try or to find the answer to the question of 'what if'? It's been great. It really has. But I've also realized that the familiarity that I tried to leave behind wasn't just routine or appearances. Those can stay behind, I don't need them again. What I do need that I have to find somewhere along the past's dusty roads is the parts of what keep me satisfied within my... Creative headspace, for lack of a better word, or term.
Before, I needed to fill the part of me that longed to be free of fear and try adventure, change up the perspective in life to see what became of me. And I did, and I'm happy. But the part that was comfortable, that lived in a shell surrounded by introverted exploits like books and puzzles has been ignored, and now I'm hungry for that again. I find it comforting in a way that nothing else can be, and therefore an important part of my personality.
I used to be a voracious reader, especially of classical romance or children's literature. It just gets me, right there, and... Oh, how do I explain it... You know how when you read a book, sometimes you know you're just reading and it holds very little meaning or influence over you? Other times, when you're reading a really good book with developed characters and setting and you can empathize to the extent where you feel like you're in the story... Those are the good ones. I like to live in a dreamworld of fairies, magical forests, gloomy moors, and giant English stone manor houses with upper class ladies and different spoons for dessert. Where there is a different, measurable quality, and you feel with the character and somehow when they struggle, you do as well, and likewise when they triumph you've also overcome and accomplished something significant. You can take life lessons from these people, cry with them, laugh with the, and learn from them because they're not just stories. They're literature.
Hopefully that makes sense. I just finished the first half of Jane Eyre and I remembered why I love reading, and how fulfilling it is. It also makes me think of other important things I gain satisfaction from that I haven't done in so long, like writing. I often feel like people don't know the real me, which is what this post was supposed to be about but I guess I wasn't meant to go there, so maybe it will have to wait. Maybe I'll write it after, but for now, this is what you get. Sometimes I write these for an audience, but sometimes I write them for me, because I know I'll come back some day and read them and I want to know how I felt. When I'm forty and my kids are teenagers and going through personal identity crises, I want them to know I struggled with that at times too, and maybe going back to activities they've been neglecting, but that make them happy, might be part of the answer. I don't know. There's a lot I don't know. What I do know is that after having read half of that book, I feel much more satisfied in an area that was feeling empty three hours ago. Pick up a book, kids. Maybe it will change your life... Some have changed mine.
