Friday, January 30, 2009

Every few months or so, I begin to miss airports. I think I've explained this before. Despite the long lines, mean customs agents, sudoku puzzles in terminals, it's all worth it for that sense of eager anticipation of taking off for unknown worlds.

I've always felt as if 20 was that Airport year; shedding off the teen years and bravely marching forward into some sort of unknown world. But for the past year or so, I've been stuck in this state of perpetual content, and there's been a severe lack of that buzz of excitement and the anticipation of a new, exciting future.
My life could be so much more awful than this, I have great friends and a great apartment, I enjoy my classes and I enjoy my spare time. I'm healthy, balanced, and perfectly secure and comfortable. I know I sound ungrateful, because I genuinely know that I don't deserve all these amazing things, but I can't help feeling a bit restless and bored of this security and comfort. I fill my life with coffee meetings, girly gym sessions where I discuss Gossip Girl and bash on the latest fashion trends, late-night "family" dinners with friends and bottles of wine, and Chaucer-fuelled discussions in class, and I feel ridiculous complaining about this, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be the happiest time of my life and that terrifies me.
If I can't accept my own happiness now, will I be able to, ever?
Or maybe it's not a question of happiness, maybe it's a question of superficiality, and all the things that I have that I should be happy with eventually boils down to nothing. I keep waiting for something real to hit me, because I'm so caught up this idea that things should just magically appear in front of me. How do I even begin to make it on my own?

I don't really expect the answer to those questions, because I don't think they really exist.
But, I mean... if we don't even try, then what is life?