I don’t blame my messes on you.

I fucking miss myself. 

I don’t always feel like I’m alive in here, in this brain of mine. I let hour after hour slip through my fingers, either daydreaming or disappearing into the ether, erasing myself with stolen culture while mumbling promises of  “tomorrow” at the growing piles of homework, laundry, and regret.

The only thing in which I seem to find solace these past few weeks is movement; the temporary safety of existing on a continuum between “here” and “there” does more for me than any comforting words every could, it seems. Friday I swear I could have walked from work to home, heavy backpack and all. Instead I took a five-mile stroll around Downtown to look at Christmas lights before grocery shopping.

As uncomfortable as this messy, jagged jumble of emotion lodged between my reason and my logic feels, I know it serves a purpose. I remember hearing somewhere (in the movie Garden State, perhaps?) that your teenage years are when your body goes through puberty and your twenties are when your brain goes through puberty. Given that I, almost exactly nine months away from turning 25, feel like I’m going through that oh-so-uncomfortable feeling of being stretched beyond my perceived limits, I’m inclined to believe this.

While browsing r/GetMotivated yesterday, I stumbled across a really amazing Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal comic that had a pretty big impact on me. The gist of it is that it takes seven years to truly master a skill. Given this, if a person lives to the age of 88, after age 11, they have 11 distinct opportunities to be good at something, or as the comic puts it, 11 lifetimes. I don’t think that I could have possibly come across this comic at a better time. In this youth-driven culture, it’s sometimes extremely difficult to remember that my value as a human being isn’t slowly evaporating with each passing day; things like this help.

I, in all of my seemingly-infinite predilection toward introspection, am extremely keen for this semester to draw to a close on December 14th so that I can fucking catch up with myself. I am beyond excited to disconnect for  a few days and read and write and organize and catch my breath and gain some perspective on where I’m going over the next few months.

P.S. — I’m importing all of my old entries finally. It feels so bizarre to skim my life in reverse no matter how many times I’ve done it before.