To be of worth, to be of worth.
This statement sits on my shoulders, both the angel and devil side, as I begin a time that is often cutely categorized as postgrad. Or, just a continual path, plain-old normal "life", depending on how you chop it up. I was recently g-chatting with Maddie, one of my closet friends (despite our distance) and who I consider a life mentor in some sense, confidant really. We were talking about love (#predictable) and how going through this current break-up* has left me fairly calm though desirous to write down my reactions, and emotions, as if I'm some journalist or academic chronicling the processes of love and loss* of love. As I described to Maddie, I feel like i'm in some in-process analysis, understanding our capacity to love, how we do it, why we do it, and what and who we love.
*(not really accurate words, but haven't articulated the right ones yet)
But this new phase of writing isn't just going to be about love, though I find it a foundation of the lives we, a collective of connected individuals, lead. It's about giving my life a worthwhile meaning, despite the fact that this dehumanizing job-search and big-city/ new-city vibe constantly remind me of my place at the "entry level". But, you know, when I start using a lens that looks at all the seemingly insignificant moments of my day as worthy of writing down, thinking about, then these days seem worth waking up for. And really, it's a process all for me. It's not like I have a really large array of readers, though if the fewww people who are reading find some meaning from it too, bonus.
So here's to writing, and wandering around lonely, and being pregnant with optimism. Oh, and being lost as shit, but knowing that's better than some google-mapped out version of life.
