zhivago chuva

Man is born to live, not prepare for life. (Doctor Zhivago)

Surprise, surprise. Or not. The only reason I’ve been such a (relapsed) workaholic is that since I was little, my entire self-esteem was hinged on what I can do well, on achievements, on being the perfect daughter/granddaughter/niece/fill-in-the relationship blank. Because I have always been a pleaser, I thought that taking that linear path from school-work-eventual marriage and family would mean that I would have fulfilled my roles. Never mind that I didn’t stop and think for myself. Never mind if I didn’t stop and ask myself if this is what I wanted, never mind the fact that I did not honor my passions, that I didn’t seek inspiration to fuel my dreams. Sure, there have been countless chances that I did not take. In hindsight, and knowing that there is a reason for everything, I am sure that those missed chances were not just lost opportunities but also little clues, like small pieces of jigsaw puzzles that have contributed to my NOW.

Come to think of it, I have more to be grateful for these days. It used to take no more a bunch of videos to watch at home to make my weekend. Where is this constant craving for more coming from? I need to focus on what is, rather than what could be. I miss looking for the joy and humor in everyday situations.

And the things that make me sad the most are the things that I don’t have, all because of missed cues, pseudo relationships, feeding my ego and generally being untrue to myself. Well, at least getting better is something to do. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I have spent my youth in planning and priming myself for the things I want to do; really I should just head on and do it.