Restless and Running.

I have always said that I hate to run. In the typical use of the word run, that is true... but lately I've been battling that oh-so-familiar need to run away. I find myself googling Dublin University again, and dreaming of possibly reconnecting with the admissions advisor that I spoke with 5 years ago. Then, after I talk myself out of that, I look into small farms in the Italian countryside, or cabins isolated far in the Alps. Any place that isn't here. Any place that has more beauty or excitement or culture than my ranch house in the suburbs of my hometown.

The only thing that my awful ex-therapist got right was when she labeled me as 'restless'. It's the perfect word to describe my demeanor. I can't get comfortable in one life before I start looking to the next. The world is a big, big place with lots of people... how do I know that this little niche that I've carved for myself is it? How do I know that these are the best friends I could have, the best husband, or the best town to settle down?

In truth, it all boils down to how well I know myself. I've fragmented myself over the years, picking up and dropping hobbies due to the people I surround myself with. The list of things I've dabbled in/tried/obsessed over is ridiculously long. I look at that ridiculously long list of things I still currently enjoy doing I am deeply concerned. I feel that the grip I had on myself is loosening instead of tightening and I'm terrified.

So running. Running is the answer. Maybe if I see myself in another light, another place; maybe then I can shake all the things I've tied to me and I can truly just see me. And I hope against hope that if I do see me, I like who I see.

Ash