I’m yearning for change. A change in lifestyle, clothing, attitude, something, anything! And yet, I feel like I have already embarked on some journey of self-discovery, that not only did I not anticipate, but cannot turn back. That is scary. I find myself trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be. And of course asking, are they all that different from one another? I’m not sure that the two are not synonymous with one another at this point.
I find myself remaining static. Standing still because I do not know in which direction I want to go. There are days, well let’s be honest, most days, when I feel that there is nothing more I would like to do than be a bohemian princess in flashy tights and feathered headdresses. As a matter of fact, my neighbor told me last weekend that he may be able to get me a chance to be a Mardi Gras Indian. That is a dream of mine, and I have long held out the hope knowing that because of my skin color, that dream may never come to be. Now, I think I may be devastated if it indeed does not happen. He should have never given me the hope.
I also fantasize about being a Baby Doll. Dressing as a china doll one day a year and hiding out here in my neighborhood waiting on spectators to “find us”. I figure, that at least, is an attainable goal. Or maybe I could just take photographs and “be an artist”. Ha-ha. Pipe dreams, friends. Pipe dreams. Then, I start thinking of making true art. In fact, I started a piece a month ago. It is not yet completed. I lack inspiration. How is that even possible? In a city that inspires me daily, I cannot bring myself to finish my own project. I think I am afraid that upon completion, it will remain empty, no one reaping any emotion from the finished project. That would be devastating to me.
I want to utilize my nursing degree. The problem is that I cannot stomach the idea of being a part of the system here that leaves the poor and uninsured out to dry. And I do not want to become disgruntled and completely disengage by taking a part in the free care system. The memories of how I was treated by the nurses within this system are still all too clear, and I cannot ride the unrealistic fantasy of thinking that I, alone, can change that system.
Many times a month, I find myself looking at medical mission trips to Romania, working with gypsy camps and offering them medical care. I think I would like that. I think it would be fulfilling and helpful, not only to the people receiving said care, but in my journey to find my sense of self. Or, more precisely, my sense of purpose. Today, I spoke with my housemate about my misgivings. How I feel that everything is unobtainable, and so I stand still. I want to twirl, and stomp, and rise on tiptoes. Not stand still, watching as the world passes me by. I’m over this paralysis.