Wanderlust

Well after about three months of a grueling summer, my time is almost up. The school year could not come soon enough. While managing to resist the temptation of slowly letting myself develop bed sores from the lifestyle of an invalid, I haven't prevented my brain from decomposing into a gruesome puree of wasted white and gray matter. Mind you, I started several bouts of mental stimulus through reading and flirting with musical pursuits. Hopping from Slaughterhouse Five to Jane Eyre back to Vonnegut with Bluebeard. Tickling those ivories by attempting to play Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu and Andante in E-flat major from Nocturne. Attempting to learn to vocally harmonize by pulling apart a capella recordings. Reclaiming past knowledge of Python though online tutorials. I've given my fair share of starts to expanding my compendium of skills with little to no avail. My mind is too set on the track years down the road that fumbling with rudimentary steps is frustrating and aggravating. I can picture myself running my hands across the keys with the smoothness and grace that can only be imitated with satin. Yet when it comes to the 3:4 polyrhythm of Chopin's great work, I just want to bash my fingers with the piano cover. I feel utterly inadequate in the state that I am in. Neither an expert in literature or an accomplished anything for that matter. Just so incredibly average.

And I can rationally appease myself momentarily by calculating the amount of time and commitment that it takes to become a master of something. But I want to be everything all at once and have little patience because the reality is that I would be lucky to be that skilled in just one of those many things. So I'm left with this feeling of anguish in that I don't have enough time on this earth and I let myself rot instead. I count time until I can be in a place that I feel as though sparks that light in me and makes me pursue something once again. I'm waiting now with hopes that I'll find some traction and then momentum to set me on my way again. I feel as though this time I'm set in such a way that with the right conditions I can propel myself with greater velocity so that my trajectory leads me to another set of conditions for propulsion. I'm to go to Scotland in a week to study philosophy and I just hope that travel in a brave new world can cure me of my wanderlust for places where I can be what I imagine. So I guess from now on I'll write as though I'm performing an experiment on myself to see if life abroad with unforeseen possibilities can make me better equipped to settle in my own skin as I am.