Just Living?

Today’s the day.

This has to still be a thing right? Honestly, I’m not sure these days. Not about sobriety, but about the celebrating of, the paying attention to, and the capturing of any and all of it. But it’s not really limited to just sobriety. I (still) feel that about all of this: should I still be writing? Should I still be trying to be something, make something? If you’re not trying to be something, or make something, are you just living? What is ‘just living’ anyway?

If you’re not trying to be something, or make something, are you just living?

Yes, I suppose in some ways I’m still in that existential crisis. What do I want? What do I need? What does it all mean? What’s the point?!

And I wish I could just ignore those questions and not have them mean so much, but when you spent the greater part of three years trying to move up, up, up, it feels very unnatural to stop. To stop trying. To just be.

Cause is ‘just being’ enough?

That’s really what it comes down to.

Am I wasting my potential?
Am I selling myself short?
Why doesn’t just being feel good enough anymore?
Who am I?
Do I like her?
Can I still like her?
Will I like her again?

Yes, I realize this is all so melodramatic, but I recognize it’s also so human. Maybe you haven’t felt this way yet, but I’m sure you know someone who has.

Is this the result of a life lived through Social Media–when we get off we forget how to live?

Arguably when I first took my break, I did feel alive. I felt free. Things were brighter because I was truly experiencing them in real life, not through a screen.

But as the months went on and I found myself withdrawing more and more from writing, I realized there’s a part of me that’s scared of it. There’s a part of me that’s scared of me.

There’s a part of me that’s scared of me.

Because if I’m not doing, than what am I doing?

Am I just living?