Destination Addiction

A year ago, the world suddenly gave me an opportunity of a different life. I was offered a once in a lifetime (or it feels like, but I still hope it’s not) chance of a clean slate.  I signed it without any hesitations, not even thinking twice. I didn’t ask any questions. I got no clue as to where it will lead me and whatever the goal is, literally and figuratively. The paycheck and the free one-way ticket made it easier. I was ready to go.

Running away. To be honest, I was running away. From all the frustrations, from all the madness, from all the people I could not face. From all the people that looks down on me, the people that would not bother and would never care, the people I care deeply but too scared to make peace with. And most especially I am running away from me. (Please take note of that.) That is the fun part, though – I could change zip codes but I could never change me and the way I am. Surprise, surprise, self!

Chasing something unclear. I’ve read this article reposted (by this wise woman that I do admire) about constantly chasing our ’10’. I am knowingly settling for my 7. Contentment in life. It wasn’t ‘better’. That was never the case, really. But then I realized, what if instead of ‘better’, I just want something else?

To live a hundred lives. I kept dreaming. Imagining these silly scenarios in my head and stupidly hoping I am. Thinking I am a 21-year old pro-surfer in Newcastle, or a 23-year old girl living in LA struggling to get a shot at fame. A 25-year old patissier in a little street in Paris, or a 27-year old kickass FBI agent in Florida. A 28-year old in Brooklyn, waiting for a big break in the theatre, or a trophy wife (lol) waiting for her husband in the Hamptons. I could live in a villa in Dubai or New Caledonia with my jetsetter husband and my kids who are annoyingly overachievers. Or probably a 30-year old Architect in New York, the youngest to build her own skyscraper in the Manhattan skyline, or maybe living in a picket fenced home in Jersey and a glorified soccer mom, and a PTA President at that.

Whichever works. (Ha-ha!) Can’t blame a girl for dreaming big, eh? I can’t help it. I’ve accepted and embraced who I am, but I still hope to be different. I kept shedding skin and leaving it on different places, never to return.

Hiding.

Running.

Probably crawling onto the next thing.

Never found.