Desperately seeking, direction. My thinking is, if I say it enough I will be hit over the head with clarity and…direction.
I saw a concert Saturday night. Bebel Gilberto played with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. It was a part of a concert series they feature called “pops” because the singers they bring in are more…poppy than the usual ASO style. I really enjoyed it. The show was, of course, flanked by alcohol on both sides, before and after. The after party portion of the evening found me shuttled across the park to Noche for tapas and…more alcohol. This all wrapped up with Hugo and I being ushered into a cab that safely delivered us right back at my doorstep where the whole evening began. This was all fine and enjoyable but I find myself struggling with a way to brilliantly describe the evening. I don’t feel like myself lately, therefore, my evenings don’t feel so brilliant. I am half too okay to be okay with. The other half of me is anxious, worried and apprehensive about everything. I am doing my thing that I always do and obsessing over the next move, the next job, all of the stuff I want to buy and all of the places I want to go “as soon as I get back on my feet”. For now, I’ll have to settle for chilly but oh so sunny Monday afternoon trips to the farmer’s market with Hugo where we eat lamb samosas and walk arm in arm around the huge building of worldly vegetables and fruit. I sometimes wonder if Hugo knows how often he saves me. Even when I fight and resist it and silently wish he wasn’t there bothering me so I could be surfing the Internet for jobs and supposedly writing. He silently insists that I stop my obsessing and join him for a few lucid hours of rambling conversations and agitated togetherness.
And then…opportunity called, but more on that later!
How I Feel About Paris Today
I am still working harder than ever to get there. The current (on-going) identity crisis I am experiencing has everything to do with the fact that I know what I want so acutely.