When I first started this blog, I had a rather vague idea of what it was going to be about.
I titled it A Story Blog because I knew it would give me the freedom to choose virtually any niche I wanted. Poetry, music, adventures, people, etc, they can all fall under the conveniently large umbrella of what counts as a story.
But I think I gave my self a little bit too much leg room. The freedom to write about pretty much whatever I liked made it easy to become distracted. At some point I simply stopped taking pictures. I stopped interviewing people. I stopped getting out of my comfort zone.
I feel that this is largely in part of the busyness (Hm. That’s interesting. Busyness and Business are almost identical words. I got distracted, sorry).
My life got cluttered, and when life becomes stuffed full, it’s hard to make out what’s really important to you. In my case, I stopped thinking so much about my family, my friends, my writing, my adventures, all because I was hell bent on actualizing the phrase, “Why leave to New Zealand with $5,000 when you can go with $25,000?” Growing up, I always heard the saying, “Don’t do things for the money,” and it’s only now that I understand why. I guess I just had to go through the lesson to get it. Funny how that works.
And then, while I was still ignoring my passions and doing things for the money and slowly watching my soul wilt away, I got into a relationship.
I wasn’t intending to. And by that I mean that I wasn’t planning on being with anyone until at least two years time. I figure 21 is the age of general maturity.
Despite my Rule of 21 (yeah, I’m gonna call it that), I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love.
Let’s get one thing clear.
I do not consider the phrase, “Falling in love,” to equate genuine love.
To me, it means infatuation.
And infatuation, to me, is like a drug.
It’s pretty much a drug.
It’s one of those rare moments where you can genuinely lose yourself. You stop listening to those around you. You stop listening to yourself. You lose a certain amount of control over your mental faculties, and for me, that’s pretty close to hell. It’s one of those rare instances when I am not myself.
I’m not going to give out specifics, but to give you an image of her, I’ll tell you a few things.
She was kind. Innocent. Well intentioned, and pretty. We had the same Meyers Briggs personality type and I figured it must be fate that I meet this person. It meant that she was someone who could understand me. Genuinely understand me. And although I’ve never believed that you can ever truly know what goes on in the heart of someone else, I made an exception for her, in part because of the whole infatuation thing, but also because she said she loved me.
Love is a word said too few yet too often and I make it a point to utter it only when I really mean it. It’s just above calling someone my friend.
We went out on one date to a cafe and talked for no longer than an hour. There were a few more meet ups afterwards, but they weren’t really anything. After about a week, she decided that she wasn’t ready for a relationship. I agreed, saying that I also had some ways to go in the area of maturity. That was it.
Well, not really. There were a lot more details and a bit of heartbreak, but to do this story justice I would have to get into specifics, and that’ll have to wait for another time.
The point is, I lost myself.
I lost myself.
But I’m coming back together, and I’ve got a whole lot of stories to tell you guys. So sit tight, this is gonna be fun.