Life Depends on Change and Renewal...
May. 14th, 2003 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hantsbearI don't know where I'm going. This fact has started to bug me of late - I keep having this horrible vision of being sat at the same desk in 10 years time in the same house in the same town in the same mess...
And yet people are telling me that I have the capability for more. I wish I could believe them. The voices inside contantly pull me down and make me believe that I can never even expect to be good at anything I set my hand to. Only ever mediocre at best.
I often feel, talking to other people, that I have never really "lived". Never really taken any risks; too scared. Too desparately seeking approval from my father, despite the fact that of late he has expressed it. And it still is a factor in my internal decision process "What would dad think?"
I ought to tell myself it doesn't matter a flying f@*k what dad thinks. It's my life, and I should take 100% responsibility for it. And yet I am constantly blaming my father for what I have become. Is this right? Sure, he has had some influence on that, but shouldn't some of the responsibility lie on my own shoulders? I could have rebelled, but I didn't.
And we come back to this stagnation thing. I have been living in Gosport now for nigh on 7 years. Since I left the parental home, this is the longest I've lived anywhere. The radical change idea is floating itself again. Go west young, well almost middle-aged, bear... And yet I dismissed moving to the US so offhandly, because of the lack of labor laws, loss of vacation time etc. Almost foolishly dismissed it. However, Canada... Maybe... maybe... My wanderlust is not helped by the fact I've just started the second book of the Emigrants quartet by Vilhelm Moberg, Unto a Good Land (Invandrarna) I'm not sure whether I am represented by Robert or Karl Oskar. Or Ulrika "The Glad One"...!
However, before I start thinking seriously about that, I need to sort me out. I need to start therapy again, and this time I think I can get it paid for through my company health care plan. And I need to do some extra-curricular stuff for me. I went to a meeting of the Friends of the New Theatre Royal, Portsmouth last week and made some useful contacts both in the front of house volunteers, and one of the amateur companies.
I need to wander around Stockholm again, and seek solace in the arms of those close to me.
And yet people are telling me that I have the capability for more. I wish I could believe them. The voices inside contantly pull me down and make me believe that I can never even expect to be good at anything I set my hand to. Only ever mediocre at best.
I often feel, talking to other people, that I have never really "lived". Never really taken any risks; too scared. Too desparately seeking approval from my father, despite the fact that of late he has expressed it. And it still is a factor in my internal decision process "What would dad think?"
I ought to tell myself it doesn't matter a flying f@*k what dad thinks. It's my life, and I should take 100% responsibility for it. And yet I am constantly blaming my father for what I have become. Is this right? Sure, he has had some influence on that, but shouldn't some of the responsibility lie on my own shoulders? I could have rebelled, but I didn't.
And we come back to this stagnation thing. I have been living in Gosport now for nigh on 7 years. Since I left the parental home, this is the longest I've lived anywhere. The radical change idea is floating itself again. Go west young, well almost middle-aged, bear... And yet I dismissed moving to the US so offhandly, because of the lack of labor laws, loss of vacation time etc. Almost foolishly dismissed it. However, Canada... Maybe... maybe... My wanderlust is not helped by the fact I've just started the second book of the Emigrants quartet by Vilhelm Moberg, Unto a Good Land (Invandrarna) I'm not sure whether I am represented by Robert or Karl Oskar. Or Ulrika "The Glad One"...!
However, before I start thinking seriously about that, I need to sort me out. I need to start therapy again, and this time I think I can get it paid for through my company health care plan. And I need to do some extra-curricular stuff for me. I went to a meeting of the Friends of the New Theatre Royal, Portsmouth last week and made some useful contacts both in the front of house volunteers, and one of the amateur companies.
I need to wander around Stockholm again, and seek solace in the arms of those close to me.
