Haven't sat and written about things in a while.
Whether consequence of that, or something else, plenty of things have been on my mind.
One month without blogging. I felt like it had run its course, I guess. I was feeling okay, I was focusing on living my life rather than writing about it (as anybody with access to my facebook page clearly saw), and I was upbeat. Quick pause: I still am upbeat. I have a tremendous amount of positive people, places, experiences, and growth to focus on.
Last week or two I haven't been shy about getting emotional and letting things off my chest. Not that I was holding things in for the months before, mind you. And not that anything specific or radically different has happened in the last few days to set me off. I'm just ... more mindful of how I feel, and a little less concerned with the why. I can psychoanalyze the why to my heart's content if I choose. Heck, I can walk over to Sigmund Freud Park and ask deep personal questions there, or buy a ticket to his former office now-restored (minus the couch: That went with him to London and remains there). The last ten days have felt more down than the time before. That's okay, and I suppose its even to be expected given everything.
I haven't written about things lately because I guess I didn't feel the need to. I'm more cognizant of the readers I've invited to see this space. What started out as someplace for me to get thoughts and feelings out into the open grew into a place for me to accept more risk, and be honest with others in a semi-anonymous manner (you readers know me, but I don't know who actually reads this). I don't want to be thinking of that when I'm writing. But, it shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter.
If I'm not comfortable sharing something then I won't type it here, it's as simple as that.
Yet I didn't share how I was doing for a while.
I'm not sure if you can picture the furrow in my brow as I think about those last statements. Trust me, it's there. The cause of the furrow is, well, I didn't sit down and type and express when I was feeling lonely, or really emotional and sad, or detached ... but not because I was uncomfortable telling anybody. I just, didn't write.
Okay.
Now that I put some grey matter behind it and think a little, I do believe that people around here have been a little tougher to connect with in the last ten days. I've certainly reached out to others. This Sunday I sent texts, phone calls, emails, and facebook messages trying to meet up with people here. Admittedly, many of them were in no physical condition to respond after Oktoberfest on Saturday (and, admittedly, I would not have been in a physical condition to respond if someone tried to get a hold of me ... yikes ...).
I can sense that I'm ready to come back to the States. Vienna has been great, it remains wonderful, and there is no denying that it was the right opportunity in the right place at the right time, when it was needed the most. It's just not "real life." The work isn't as early, the pace isn't as fast, the people aren't the same, the focus isn't as sharp. That doesn't make it bad. It doesn't make the States good. It's just different. I'm proud of the way I've adapted and thrived. It's been fun. However, returning to the US to me feels like Moving Forward. Staying here feels like Standing Still. An escape from "real life" as I know it.
"We are men of action. Lies do not become us."
... well ... this has been a long and ultimately inconclusive "stream of consciousness" post. Will others follow? Not sure.
