Over and Over Again

Starting over is hard, especially each time you do it. I have been trying to get back here. I’ve been clawing my way back to this and to all things I love. Everything I used to do religiously have slowly fallen away until I was left with nothing left of my previous life. Sure you grow out of things, but this isn’t that. I’ve been losing all the things that made me, me because I couldn’t hold onto them. Everything ran through my fingers like water.

Wasn’t sure if I could pinpoint what happened, and I am still not sure that I can say exactly what happened. I do know it has to do with change. I made several big changes in my life in the past couple months. I moved thousands of miles away from my family, it took me a while to find a place to be comfortable, and then I changed jobs, transferred within the company, but I changed them again when I realized I was still miserable at my job. But all these things felt good at the time. Not saying they were mistakes, they were just difficult. Being in a new place made me think about what it is that I really want.

Then I found school. It made me happy at first, but then the nagging feeling returned. That something wasn’t right. I went through the motions everyday but I wasn’t all there. I wasn’t my happy self, and it bothered me so much. I felt myself slip further and further away from what I once used to define myself. And it wasn’t until recently that I made my way back to here.

It was actually because I was updating my resume. The template had a section labeled ‘projects,’ and it gave me pause. I had the answer right away but it felt wrong. It left a bitter taste in my mouth because it felt like a lie. I have thought of typing my blog, this blog, and my magazine as my projects. But if you have read my blog in the past you know that I have been M.I.A. for some time, and if you enjoyed my magazine you know that has been collecting dust in the corner for much longer. I felt ashamed. The things that once gave me unbounded joy were not even a thought in my mind until right then.

It hit me then that I was incomplete. I know that I haven’t been writing unless it was for school, even that lost its appeal, and I couldn’t even read more than 30 books, I read so much more than that, last year. I didn’t even have to ask myself what changed. I know that the move and job change had been difficult, but I didn’t realize that the stressors of my environment had caused me to back slide so much.

So, after my shameful bout with my new resume I came to a conclusion, that I need to start fresh. You can’t go backwards, it never works. So, I am moving ahead. I am picking up all the things I let wither and die, and I am going to plant new seeds in their place. I know it will take time, but I know that I can get back to where I used to be. I just have to work at it.

I already have my TBR (To Be Read) list piling up next to me. It was supposed to be just a couple of books, but the more I picked up the better I felt. Now I have 11 books staring at me waiting for me to read them. I think I can say that I climbed out of this reading slump.

As for writing it may be a little harder. The novel I was working on I can’t really work on because I am going to use it for my Masters thesis. That forces me to go back to another unfinished story and revamp it, which might be good for me. Since I am all about new beginnings, maybe that is what I need. A new novel to obsess over.

Writing this is a start. I am going to continue to write this with my opinions and poetry, maybe a little snippet from my revamped work, who knows. As for ‘Journaled,’ that may be a little harder. But if everything was easy it wouldn’t be worthwhile, would it?

I just want to take the time to thank you, my readers, for sticking it out. I know I am sporadic but I think I am finally back on track. I know I have fallen off many times, but I think this time I’m going to fasten my seatbelt and hold on. I just hope that what comes from my soul helps you as much as it helps me.

Always try to keep a patch of sky above your life

Marcel Proust

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