I woke up this morning with an impalpable sense of dissatisfaction.
It was a strange feeling to try and rationalize.
It was morning in sunny California, where I’ve come to chase my dream. I’m young and relatively healthy. I have people in my life who I can truly call friends. Most of the checkboxes had marks.
Yet this wasn’t the first morning I’d felt this way.
So what was amiss?
It occurred to me that happiness isn’t circumstantial, even when things are good. Of course… I knew that. Careful where you choose to build your house.
But doesn’t that mean that this feeling arose from somewhere within me? If it didn’t come from my circumstances. In fact, blaming the thread count, or the square footage, or the balance on my card would be childish. Externalizing my discomfort to the thing of closest proximity.
But isn’t that idea more disturbing?
If there’s no one else here, then I look in the mirror to find that I am my own devil.
Unless, there was a purpose.
Unless, this is the sand.
Like an oyster, don’t I need a disturbance? Something to spur me forward. To awaken me. A reason to work for the pearl.
A discomfort. A desire. A dissatisfaction.
It’s certainly set me off on a search. I’ve thought about it. I’ve written this. And after it all, I think I’m a bit more comfortable with it.