(I wrote this last night with ghosts, candles and silence)
Here I am again, looking for solutions. Crossroads. I’m not sure of the road I’m taking.
I’ve been told we’re meant to take risks in this life. I’m not really a risky person. I don’t skydive. I don’t talk to the cute one at the bar. I don’t bet. But I took a few risks this year: I moved in another country, I left a job that seemed rather secure. I even wear coloured skirts sometimes! (not all the time).
And yet I feel so unsure.
I have already talked about my doubts. They eat me alive sometimes. “Did you make the right choice?”, “You could do better”, and so on, and so on…
So, I read. I read inspirational people. Inspiration is a big thing now; it’s a trend, even. How many inspirational blogs do I read everytime, fascinated by the words, these powerful words: “you can do it”, “it’s in your heart”, “just believe”. And then I blink. No revelations. No big moments. There’s just me, my computer, my unfinished business, and my questions.
Who am I? Am I the writer, or the lost kid? Am I the hopeless dreamer, or am I the fighter?
What am I looking for? Peace? Escape? Love?
Which road do I have to take?
Are we meant to catch our dreams? Or are we just here to chase them until the end?
I guess no blog, no piece of paper can answer my questions. That’s the trickiest part of growing up: You have to find the answers, even if it breaks your heart.
So I write. I chase the dream. And maybe one day I’ll find the answer.