I've done more in my life then I have say a year ago, for sure. I've dated two guys, loved two guys - but also lost them. The second well that was rather recent. But I've found out more about myself - my desires, my loves. My DVD collection for sure has grown. So has my imagination about wanting to be like Betty Grable - or at least have her sophistication and glamour. This time last year I was in my whirlwind Masters application. My MA decision has being one of the best choices I've ever made in my life (reminder - personal last minute decisions may be the most productive - hence the success of the tattoo and random hair dying).
The people and experiences I have come to cross through doing my Masters have opened doors and occurrences that I never thought I had the opportunity to experience again. Not only did I sneak another year at being a student - I met people that actually understood me - my way of thinking, following the same dreams to make a statement, to fight societal assumptions, to be the people that want to not only mark themselves upon the world, but do something about the society we find ourselves living within.
Yet for all this - I wouldn't say I was happier inside. But what is happiness? Is it the ability of being able to wake up every morning alive? That should make you happy right? Sure it does, but surely there should be more then merely being able to breathe to make you happy? You can breathe and feel dead inside, like your body is merely undertaking the processes to keep you alive but inside your not feeling anything. So what else could be happiness? I know I enjoy the sound of bird singing, of seeing summer flowers blossoming, of finding a book you just can't put down, of laughter and smiles. And I guess they make me happy.
I feel I have everything going for me, that I have life on my side. But I feel like I'm searching for a happiness that I can't find. One that is normally too dependent upon other people. But is this such a bad thing?
I'm searching for how to make myself happy. Always searching.
The people and experiences I have come to cross through doing my Masters have opened doors and occurrences that I never thought I had the opportunity to experience again. Not only did I sneak another year at being a student - I met people that actually understood me - my way of thinking, following the same dreams to make a statement, to fight societal assumptions, to be the people that want to not only mark themselves upon the world, but do something about the society we find ourselves living within.
Yet for all this - I wouldn't say I was happier inside. But what is happiness? Is it the ability of being able to wake up every morning alive? That should make you happy right? Sure it does, but surely there should be more then merely being able to breathe to make you happy? You can breathe and feel dead inside, like your body is merely undertaking the processes to keep you alive but inside your not feeling anything. So what else could be happiness? I know I enjoy the sound of bird singing, of seeing summer flowers blossoming, of finding a book you just can't put down, of laughter and smiles. And I guess they make me happy.
I feel I have everything going for me, that I have life on my side. But I feel like I'm searching for a happiness that I can't find. One that is normally too dependent upon other people. But is this such a bad thing?
I'm searching for how to make myself happy. Always searching.
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