I was initially enchanted by its promise – the woo of a younger existence where responsibilities can lie dormant. A return to easier days – money was no object; work, a fun distraction to our true goal: our social lives. Add in a remarkably temperate climate, the preponderance of youth and the antithesis of a current reality, and the allure was intoxicating.
I wanted it, consumed with a lust most often reserved for the pleasures of other, more tangible instant gratifications.
The decision, and the subsequent move, was made. I had started on a new adventure, started writing the new chapter that was the continuance of my life.
As is so often found in most changes, most big decisions, the authentic reality comes incrementally. Though the weather may argue otherwise, all has not been sun and sparkling brilliance. A cloud or two has entered the horizon; most times, as if sunbathing, you find a new position to maximize the sunshine, the warmth. It’s only when the sky whispers otherwise, warning of impending storms, that you acquiesce and heed its advice, lest the alternative materialize.
Nothing is as most would want you to believe – within all statements exist both truth and lies. Our reality, at any given time, is subjective. On any given day, your public façade may emit gleeful self-abandon while your private self reels in self-awareness. Your life isn’t just what you make of it; in many ways, it’s what you portray it to be.
I’m getting used to the circumstances around me, that no city nor job nor group of friends will ever be a quick fix to an underlying discontentment. Change is a placebo for disillusionment, providing a temporary panacea until the guise is revealed. What you may find beneath the self-veiled layers may not be all bad, but bear in mind it will never be the remedy for what ails you.
Only you can fix you.