I have lately been wondering what my purpose, story, and destination are. Looking back at the journey so far, I can't be anything but proud. Still, a feeling of discontent lingers in the background, trying to push me to do more. But for what?
While I might regret some decisions I have taken impulsively due to a dire lack of decisiveness I am extremely proud of the human I turned out in the end. In the busy jargon of life, I have pushed myself a little too much to do stuff out of my comfort zone, which has turned out to be right most of the time but wrong sometimes. The fact that these decisions were mine alone, with no external influence of any sort, somewhat comforts me.
The feeling of unsatisfaction, of a few steps not taken, ideas not executed, decisions not made is hitting hard lately. I want to be able to do so much more than what I have made myself do so far. I do not want to feel regretful for those actions not taken. But what is all this worth? What is the end goal? While I do dream of a lavish lifestyle with all the success, money, and happiness in the world I find calm and peace in art and poetry. This dichotomy of thought has put me in a position of no control and confusion. While there is a strong need for me to start a professional life I also want to be able to express myself creatively. I want to be able to learn new art forms, dance forms, languages, music, and all creative endeavors that might not push the human race forward but make it worthwhile. This is adulting I guess, the process of finding oneself by experimenting. Accepting the chaos before the calm sets in. Art and poetry teach us that beauty often lies in imperfections, in unanswered questions, and in the depth of emotions we can't fully articulate. Similarly, life doesn't need a singular "end goal" to be fulfilling. It needs moments—of creation, of connection, of discovery.
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