||[Jun. 14th, 2013|09:39 pm]
In a nutshell, that is all I'm ever after. Improvement, both of myself and of my surroundings. It's difficult to know where the boundary between the two lies, and it's difficult to know the boundaries at all when it comes to the world outside of the self. It's easy to want some specific improvement, it's not always practical or possible or fair to make it so. It's also not always the right thing to do, and those worries have made me a late-bloomer in the getting-things-done department. Sometimes I want to make grand, sweeping improvements to my life. A new education, a new career, a new permanent or semi-permanent place of residence, an entirely new set of hobbies and passions. Other times, and more often now than ever before, I want smaller improvements. Better quality furniture. Warmer colors in my wardrobe and linens. Rugs. A fireplace in the winter. A home rather than yet another apartment in a long line of dreary lower-middle class apartments in random suburbs or city neighborhoods, chosen entirely based upon availability and usually at the last minute. And it really is a selfish desire, but one I don't feel all that bad about. I don't want it to please or impress anyone in particular. I want it to meet my expectations and satisfy the persistent visions of what a warm, comfortable life should look and feel like. I reckon that such a thing would appeal to most anyone, if not totally then at least in the general sense.
So how do I get there? Do I work the job I've been working for almost 6 years, the job everyone knows I hate more than I tolerate, but the job I'm recognized as being good at? 6 years, and now I'm approaching my 30th birthday. 20 seems so recent, but has been so full of false starts that I dread the thought of reliving any of it for the sake of prolonging the experience of life. I wouldn't have the foggiest as to what to do differently, other than somehow overcome all of the challenges that prevented me from completing formal schooling in the first place and blaze through high school and college with the same determination that I now feel about home furnishings. Nothing would guarantee that would have been the right choice, as I may have missed other chances, like the slim little chance that is now my marriage, dependent entirely upon my having gone through correspondence school during 9th grade.
Am I jumping ahead and trying to live my later years early because I'm afraid to bite the bullet now? Probably. I'm not proud to say it but sometimes I've sacrifices so much for my job that I do feel ready for retirement. Or at least a job with some sense of satisfaction, a job in a field that matches my own interests, if I can be certain what they are. The field I'm in now is most certainly a field for lost souls. It is not a career one pursues. It requires no higher education. It requires only your undivided attention from start to finish, if you're lucky enough to break free before it's too late. I'm reaching that limit. I'm deciding I'm reaching it anyway, because I probably reached it a few times already and just kept plodding along for the paycheck. I am still a sucker for the paycheck. I'm pay all of my bills early. I have a Roth IRA, I paid for a fairly expensive domestic vacation this year. I can afford to leave this nondescript American city. But the cost of all of that is the absence of direction and motivation. The penalty for waiting so long is the resurfacing of the same fears I had as a teenager when struggling with an algebra test. The fear that I won't make it, that I'll fail in any endeavor I try. That's some real talk for a chance, none of that Facebook exhibition. I have to sober up to the truth and I'm only just now looking at the first step.