I've had a couple blogs before. Another one that I started writing when I moved to Japan in 2005. (I don't live there anymore.) Another that I wrote when the über-happy stylings of the first blog wore thin; the Japan blog was being read by parents and teachers and relatives and friends, and I didn't want them to be disappointed when my post-Japan life was revealed to be less than exhilarating. The second blog let me vent, let me be 'evil me', gave me room to spew the poison and filth that I rarely showed even to myself. Eventually that, too, became an unreal depiction of myself. I had a front, a persona that I had to maintain. Either way, in either blog, I was lying. Lying to my readers (whoever they were), and to myself.
I'm here today, starting afresh. Beginning with real honesty. Revealing who I am, in as healthy a manner as I am able, for the betterment of myself.
You see, I am on the mission of my life: I need to figure out exactly what it is that I want out of life. And I don't know how to do it. I have behind me years of self-help book rumination, years of listening to Tony Robbins and my parents and my teachers, months spent reading The Secret and Steering by Starlight and The Artist's Way. I've journalled, I've made vision boards, I've asked the universe for guidance, and either these things have helped me figure out what it is that I want and I just haven't realized it yet, or... Or I just haven't realized it yet.
I always like to read the "My 'Aha!' Moment" articles in O magazine, because they have concrete examples of people whose lightbulbs have magically, memorably, flicked right on. I have been waiting for that moment. Searching, fighting, struggling for that moment.
I am on the mission of my life, because knowing what it is that I want means my life. I have to know why I have this life, what the purpose of my life on this planet is, because I don't want to be just one more automaton, feeding and breeding and punching holes in the atmosphere for no good reason. I must have a purpose. Existing to feed and grow and get a mortgage and raise offspring, get a pension and then be buried in a nice cemetery with an expensive chunk of stone on my grave... it's not enough. It's no reason to exist.
For that matter; what is it that makes me think that my wants are so special and unique that my desires justify my existence either? I dunno. Regardless, I do believe that I have a purpose. And I really want to know what it is.
So- I write. With honesty. For clarity. With an audience, unknown, to help keep me real, to buoy me through the darkness. Thank you. And enough anonymity to keep me safe; to also keep me real. I need the realness, not the fantasy, to push me forward.
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