I walk through days lately like a broken record. 5am: I’d wake up (days start too early in Hawaii), 6am: make coffee and eat some leftovers for breakfast. If I had a good sleep, I’d make myself some pancakes or scrambled eggs. This almost usually never happens. 6:30am: I would check my messages if my boyfriend has sent anything (it would be midnight by his time, most likely he’s asleep unless he’s out with his friends) and watch the clouds in my coffee. 7am: start work commute, greet people on the sidewalk as they pass by. Usually it’s a woman in her mid 30’s going for a morning jog, a man walking his three dogs. My long walks each day often lead to the most random epiphanies – such as the origin of the saying, “when pigs fly“, to the impending future and decisions I must make.
I’ve tried the struggle once. A year ago, my job wasn’t the highest paying job in the entire world, and for someone in her early 20’s suffering from quarter life slash existential crisis, I spent most of the years searching for one particular something which I, to this date, don’t even know. Was it fulfillment? Satisfaction over what I do? I liked the company I worked for and my workmates weren’t the worst I could’ve had; yet I still felt the utter lack of passion in the days I felt confined in the office cubicle, in front of my Mac. Though I was lucky enough to have a job that would occasionally require some field work, covering events and attending meetings and such from time to time – I still wasn’t completely happy. I found myself hating every bit, every single detail of each day: from the scorching heat of the sun beaming through the taxi cab windows to the peeling white coated walls in the office.
These days don’t seem much different from the last ones.
I have a crippling fear of turning my life into a monotonous day to day routine, of trapping my self in a box of security. I don’t know what it is that I’m expecting, exactly. It isn’t wholly bad to have a paycheck that covers most of my day to day expenses (from important things like bills, rent and my monthly savings plan to the mundane ones, such as my uncontrollable coffee shop fix and online habitual spending) or to live in a place where the sun rests over her morning glow on the entire island. And I have, finally, gathered enough courage to move out and live on my own. But lately, each day is composed of me dreading the next day and the next after that – sometimes I wonder if this emptiness is the one thing I’d always have to endure for safety and comfort.
These are the fears crawl out from under my bed and haunt me before the lights turn out, the nights I sleep the hardest. Why is it that I can’t find it in myself to simply settle?