Boredom | Unlearning the Fear

I’m getting so restless these days. Last night I looked up all-inclusive vacations, just for fun. Just to imagine myself in a faraway place, doing something different.

I wonder if I’m stuck in a rut. I don’t like to be one of those people who complains about her life, her job, the first world problems that seem to bring her down. I know better than to take anything for granted. But lately I’ve felt restless. I need change. I need to find something to do that fulfills me.

I love to write. I started blogging and I’m immersing myself more and more in this. But it’s never enough. I love to create and express myself, and I’ve been wanting to write a novel, or put together a collection of short stories, for some time now. The problem is, I lack inspiration. As a writer, I can at times have a love-hate relationship with my craft. I write when I need to and it’s amazing–the words flow right out of me, the burden on my soul slowly lifts. But with fiction, or fiction loosely based on reality, it’s different. You need that creative spark, and mine seems to be temporarily out. Extinguished.

I went to Mexico a few months ago. It was my first time there and I loved it. I’m sort of a sucker for all-inclusives, mostly because I find laying on a sandy beach, listening to the ocean, so relaxing. I feel at peace, and in awe of nature. Somehow, my entire life gets put into perspective and the worries and cares that took up so much energy disappear. Not only that, the experience of new places, people, cultures, it changes you. It fuels your soul and ignites your creative energies.

When I came back from Mexico I got back into my writing. After a long dormant period, my writing flourished into being once again. The experience gave me something to feed on, a small seed from which my imagination could grow.

And so now that I’m feeling restless, now that my writing seems to lack inspiration, my mind turns again to the world of travel. I want to travel more, to get out there and explore as much of the world as I can. It shakes you up and helps you see your life for what it is–contained, repetitive, familiar.

I wonder how people do it sometimes–day in day out the same routine. How do we not become overwhelmed and overtaken by the desire to pack our bags, move somewhere else, and start anew? Start fresh, where no one knows you, where the rules are different and you can feel the power of hope and possibility?

I have no answers, all I know is I need something to fulfill me. Not just to fill the time, but to feel worthwhile. To feed my soul.

I suppose if you have a family you don’t really have time to feel restless, it’s a luxury. You run around after your kids, keeping up with your job, and it seems like the days don’t have enough minutes, or hours. Between diapers and daycare and ensuring they get their fill of the cultural capitol that will launch them ahead of their peers– you don’t have a moment to spare, let alone to contemplate self-actualization, fulfillment, satisfaction.

So maybe instead of allowing my restlessness to consume me, to distress me, I should try to see this as an opportunity. I won’t always live alone, and perhaps if I ever do have a family, I will look longingly back on my youth, and this endless freedom.