Contemplating the last two years of living in San Antonio and wondering what it all means and what it’s leading to. There’s a strange familiarity of building a life in a place that may not be for me. Migrated to SA for love but something else happened. I discovered a version of myself that was buried underneath depression and isolation. A part of myself that I never knew existed before. A level of confronting hard truths that dwells in the souls of men that cannot be ignored.
I spent the better part of my 20’s not being honest about what I wanted out of my life. I was stuck at a job I loathed, in a town I grew beyond. I hated my job so much that I actively avoid my college friends, folks that I love to this day, because I didn’t want to explain why I never started my teaching career. We all graduated but I was the only one that never moved on. It was monumentally difficulty and embarrassing to admit to anyone that there were years that I fell in and out of love with the idea of being a teacher. It felt like all those years in college, all those nights studying and writing and partying and loving, were all for nothing even though that was the best time of my life.
At 33, it feels like I finally grew up. It’s been eight years and I never landed that teaching gig. And, I finally feel comfortable in admitting, that’s okay. I have a career that’s satisfying with people that I like and I have the option of going into teaching if I decide to. Currently, I have a supervisor position in a bank so small that our CEO is in our only branch. That’s fine by me…
My time in San Antonio has been marked by tragedy and triumph. I’ve gained and lost a few special people along the way but found myself in the process. Well, “finding” myself is more accurate. I don’t think this is my final form; I’m sure there’s plenty of things on the horizon for me to build and break on this silly journey called life.
Thumbing through tumblr at 1:30 in the morning and someone wrote “The only thing i regret in my life is not falling in love with myself sooner” and I’ve never been so jealous and envious of anyone. My journey in my 30’s is about finding balance, in all facets of my life: learning how to build a career and how to satisfy my creative hunger, and learning how to love someone without forgetting to love myself.
In a night of blunderous splendor, I wrote some world-class terrible poetry. Whew, it was a stinker. But, in it, there’s truth. I wrote I thought I saw myself in you/In truth, I saw the person I wish I could be. Reading it back all these months later feels self-loathing and being unable to understand what is special about the love I have to offer. I suppose I was using my past relationships to fill a void in myself without having to do the hard work. A common thread about all the women that I’ve loved before is they have all had a level of ambition and self-determination that I lacked. I was always envious that they saw something in life, went for it, and achieved; I used their light to guide me without doing the same for them.
It’s time I found my own light.
Today is the third anniversary of the creation of this blog. I continue to be inspired by life and everything in between. Thank you greatly for the support you’ve shown. Even if you’ve read one post, even if this is the first and only thing that you’ll ever read, thank you.