That’s a really long time. Especially if you hate your job.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to have one, but what is the point of having one if, day in and day out, you feel like you’re making no real difference at all, you question your existence and what you’re even doing on this earth, and sometimes, you want to smash all of the desserts that you slave away so hard at to make pretty and delectable?
I’ve been floundering a lot lately. That’s a neat word, floundering. It basically means “to struggle or stagger helplessly in water or mud”. Or, in my case, heaping amounts of whipped cream, buttercream icing and other things I couldn’t care LESS about.
I really wish I could like it. That would make life so much easier, wouldn’t it? Because I have friends at work who are pretty awesome…don’t get me wrong, there are people there also who I would love nothing more than to smash a cake in their face and then walk out in a blaze of glory, but…I digress.
I just feel like I’m stuck. I don’t like where I’m at, I want to be somewhere else, doing something else. Something meaningful. Today, I cut cakes and just dreamed that I was in some far off country somewhere, exploring places I’d never been before. I’m sure to the untrained eye, my facial expression made me look like I was fantasizing about axe murders or something, but…I just get no enjoyment out of the place.
And before I have the “reality checkers” come and get me, I know what a job is. It’s a place where you go to make money and support yourself…but what if it was so much more than that? What if you loved going in, where there was something new and exciting to experience each day?
Because there is more to life than cake. Or dessert. And why should you continue to do something that makes you miserable?
I want to travel the world so badly. I’ve been researching ways to do it. I want to make it happen…financially, I just can’t, though. Not right now. I just feel like…time is of the essence. Maybe because my aunt was diagnosed with cancer, lymphoma, a year ago. We got news last week that it has moved from her eye to her brain. We knew this would probably happen, but…hoped it wouldn’t.
Life is way too short. And why slog through the things that suck nonstop when you can try to make yourself truly happy?
That same aunt, and other people, have told me practically every time I discuss my dreams to travel that it isn’t a safe world we live in or that my dreams are “too far out of my reach”. The world has never been a safe place and things can happen anywhere…and while they haven’t said those exact words about my dreams being out of my reach, I can see it on their faces. And I want to prove them wrong.
I was always sheltered as a kid and I want to break out and go see the world. I don’t think that’s far reaching or stupid at all.
I have a question, though. Why is it that we only truly start living when we realize we’re dying? Don’t we owe more to ourselves than that?