Sometimes, I lie, on my stomach with my knees bent, feet crossed on my bed in my top floor studio apartment and wonder how I got here. To this point. To the brink of complete happiness.
Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have been so selfish in college. Instead, having suppressed my desire for singledom and allowed myself to be enveloped by the only man I’ve truly considered spending my life with. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I’d moved to Los Angeles to follow him instead of to San Francisco to my dreams.
Sometimes I wish I had gone out of state for college, studied abroad, or travelled before committing to a full-time job. Seen the world before deciding on a residence.
Sometimes I wish I could shut my mind off. Submerge myself in unbroken silence.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have no fears. No subliminal associations with being afraid for fear is crippling, and I want to be alive.
Sometimes I wish my work ethic wasn’t so profound and I chose to embrace laziness. Not all the time, but enough to cherish the slow moments.
Sometimes I think about the future. Try to plan and hope, but am brought out of the clouds and into the mud when I remember there is only so much I can control.
Sometimes I long for the days when I was unable to compartmentalize sex and love.
Sometimes I wonder why I make the decisions I do.
Sometimes I’m too focused on finding my happy ending that I’m not enjoying where I’m at, in this moment.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like had I stayed in Colorado with my close friends and family. If it would have been as predictable as I had deemed.
Sometimes I wish I could sit back and see everything as it is, not with the underlying hope of morphing it into something that suits me and my needs.
Sometimes I wonder what my needs really are. And if they differ that much from my wants.
Sometimes I think I’m insane. Repeating past mistakes hoping for different outcomes while equally disappointed when the results don’t shift at all.
Sometimes I read a good book and wonder how its author was able to express my inner-most thoughts and feelings so eloquently and without knowledge of my personal existence.
Sometimes I remember I’m not alone. Never alone.
Sometimes I think about what it would be like to truly have a personal blog. To be completely transparent and share my inner-most secrets with all of you.
Sometimes I wish I could really let go. Lose control. And be okay with it.
Sometimes I wish I’d never started a blog at all. If I’d stuck to my hand-written journals, people wouldn’t have opinions about my every move.
Sometimes I wonder if my perpetual optimism is genuine or if I’m trying to convince myself as much as others.
Sometimes I think about death and wonder if I’ll ever survive if someone I’m close to dies.
Sometimes I wish we could go back in time just to see what life would be like had we chosen a different path. Like a choose-your-own-adventure book.
Sometimes I take a deep breath and I remember exactly what I’m doing here and I’m proud and ecstatic and overwhelmed.
Sometimes I’m astounded at the idea that I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up at age 10, and at age 23, I still want the same things.
Sometimes, at times, I’m able quiet my mind just enough to appreciate everything and everyone. Live a life of grateful.