The sort of day that every person looks forward to. Sunny, warm, and sweet.
I wandered around the house pondering what to do. I was bored and feeling completely stalled.
Boredom blurs the lines of content and ambivalence.
I paced the house, I picked up and moved an object or two, I sat down, I stood up, I did 8 push-ups, I turned on the TV, I turned it off, I listened to 2 1/2 minutes of a song, I turned it off.
Finally, I stood in the doorway and looked down at the ground. Seven years ago, I thought, seven years ago this behavior would have culminated into me having a drink, me writing a bunch of nonsensical lament in my notebook, crying, then falling asleep fully clothed with streaks of mascara running down my face.
I was 20 then. I was in a new city. I knew no one. I worked 24/7. I felt utterly and completely alone. I was bored. I paced the house. I overthought. I discovered that I had insecurities. I had my heart broken by adults. I realized that not everyone was good. I drank for these truths and I cried for these truths.
Now… now I don’t do any of that.
One day, I stopped feeling alone. Insecurities began peeling away and I started playing the game. The curve balls hurt a little less all the while my skin grew thicker and thicker.
I could sit alone and feel completely ok with myself.
My rite of passage came and I stopped being the insecure twenty-something who wanted to take everyone down with her.
I grew up.
Now my life is quite simply normal.
… and it’s boring as all hell.
A few nights back, while having drinks with an acquaintance, I tried explaining how I sort of missed the days of emotional extremes and bad decisions. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said. I knew he was right. I began shaking my head ‘no’ even before the words left my lips.
I don’t want to return to that girl.
I didn’t like her and she definitely didn’t like herself.
The girl that dated certain men and deluded herself into thinking it was love. Now, now I know it isn’t love, so I wait for the real thing.
It’s been kind of quiet.
The girl that sat like a rag doll in front of the mirror, taking snap shots of her drunken droopy face as a reminder of how low she felt at that precise moment.
Now I barely drink- alone or socially.
The girl full of words like ‘why?’ and ‘sorry’ and ‘can’t’ and ‘no’ when it should have been ‘yes’ and ‘yes’ when it should have been ‘no’.
Now I’m filled with the understanding and confidence of the decisions I make.
So why do I miss her? Why do I miss those confounded days?
Because it was the beginning.
It was what I was supposed to be feeling.
It gave me something to write about.
All the questioning and scouring and longing made me feel something.
All the bad decisions taught me and all the searching brought me to…here.
The place that I am currently bemoaning.
The place I longed to be seven years ago.
The place I’m supposed to be.
Do you miss the days of twenty-something melancholy?