I’m approaching my 27th birthday and recently I’ve been considering what I’ve accomplished so far in life. I’m concerned that it isn’t significant.
I’ve read a couple of blog posts recently as I search for inspiration. Many urge you to “blog what you’re passionate about!” Honestly, I’m not sure I’m that passionate about anything. I’m definitely not an expert at anything. I don’t feel qualified to give advice about beauty, life, fashion, or well-being (so what the hell have I been blogging about here for nearly 3 years?). Everything I love doing is pretty average: Netflix, spending too much time on the internet, cuddling with my dog, etc. etc.
When I consider my hobbies, my only actual hobby is blogging. I bought a DSLR, learned a few things about photography, and while I feel much more confident in my photography skills, I don’t even know what to take pictures of (except Archie). So I don’t. I can knit, but I think it’s boring. I love to read, but I’m in a reading rut. I hate to exercise so I just don’t.
I’m just in a weird place, confidence wise. Sometimes in social situations I become convinced that people don’t actually like me that much. I feel like I’ve lost the ability to read people. I can’t tell if someone likes me or just tolerates me. My face gets really red. I can tell it’s happening while it’s happening but I can’t make it stop.
I can’t decide if this is 1. anxiety or 2. that I’ve gained some wisdom and now realize that it’s a real possibility that someone might just not like me and I no longer have the youthful arrogance that previously protected me from these feelings.
What’s also weird is that if you asked me, I’d also tell you that I’m the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. My home life is really wonderful. I love where I live and I love my job. My current confidence rollercoaster is nothing related to my physical appearance. I’m at a pretty content place with my body.
It’s more like, me. What have I done, seen, contributed? I worry that I’m wasting my life (and my youth). I worry that everything about my life is completely ordinary and I worry about what that means. And I’m anxious that I’m not contributing enough to the world. I feel personally responsible and strangely careless.
Sometimes I don’t feel it. And sometimes I do.
Linking up with Leslie