The Escapist

My life has been as of late, well, rather messy. In a moment of angry passion, I quit my part time job. Thankfully, I had found a replacement the same day and commenced said new job, only to quit that one after one week. 

I have savings to get me by for sometime, but still - my savings weren't there to support me during a bratty episode and so its speeding reduction is disappointing and worrisome, and even I know that.

But I guess it's been worth it so far because the sudden opening in my schedule meant I could take a spontaneous road trip with my sister. It was exactly what I didn't know I needed.

When questioned why I was suddenly taking off, especially with my piling of responsibilities, I justified that it was for the sake of my mental health. I need time to get away. I need to clear my head. And it wasn't a lie.

In the midst of climbing trees, drinking beers at beautiful lookouts, playing cards and hopping from beach to beach, I found inspiration, motivation and clarity. 

I realised that my escape wasn't in order to get away from my responsibilities, duties, stresses, bills, fines, and the nagging reminder in my head that in six months I had achieved nothing I had set out to do. I was escaping myself. I understood this as my sister and I drove our father's Prado through the giant Karri trees dominating Pemberton, enveloping us under their shade and crisp cold air. The sight of nature, as it so commonly does, encourages to me ponder and dreamily reflect. I asked myself whether I was happy. Then at finding the answer, I wondered why I wasn't happy. 
My responsibilities had only reduced within the year. I had more friends now than this time last year. I was constantly making memories and going on spontaneous adventures. I had reliable emotional support. I was more self-aware than ever before. So what was it?

I couldn't figure it out so I began to imagine my dream life. What kind of life do I need to have in order to be happy and how do I achieve it? Well, my dream life would consist of me being a successful writer. I'd write everyday and I'd have the time to do it. I'd have enough money to live in a humble yet gorgeous house by the beach. I'd take annual holidays. Ah yes, I thought. Then I'd be happy.

But then it hit me. I have all those things; the house, the holidays. I may not be a successful writer but I do have the time and means to write everyday, and yet I don't. Thus, I am the problem. 

So instead of noting in my mind all the things that I require to be happy and what my dream life is, I began to list my dream self. What is she like? How do I become her?

My dream self is kind and speaks with love; not spite, jealousy or mockery. 
My dream self is productive, moving closer to her dreams each day, no matter how slowly. 
My dream self is loving and considerate to all those close to her, and does not take others for granted.
My dream self is wise, learning from her mistakes, her achievements, and is the first one to admit when she is wrong. 
My dream self is self-aware and has self-control; indulging in moderation. 
My dream self is kind to herself and loves her even when she makes a fault. 

It has only been a matter of days, but I see my dream self  clearer with each one that passes. And even though I had originally wished to escape from myself, I'm glad I was not able to. For I bonded with my sister, laughed endlessly, reflected and learnt from that trip, and return home with a self that I am proud of and will do well to make her proud too.