Lately I've been fixated on what I don't have. It's ridiculous, and I know that. I really, really know that. I scold myself every time it happens. Because the reality is, my life is wonderful; it's literally full of wonder. I have things I want, but don't need. I have family. I have friends. I am loved. I have options. I have opportunities. There is nothing significant for me to lament. Still, just before the Memorial Day weekend, I started brooding over missing minutia.
That's not entirely accurate. (I am often derailed by alliteration.) It's not that what's missing is in some way small or insignificant. Obviously the universe is bringing me to some greater truth about the course my life should take. But it's difficult to say my life is not exactly what I want it to be, when there are so many good things in my life.
All of this started because I wanted to go camping.
I love camping. I love nature. I love loading up the car, driving off the grid, setting up a tent and eating grilled deliciousness. I love hiking and being humbled by the majesty that's just out there. I started thinking about camping -- about what it would really take to organize an excursion -- and I realized I don't have those people anymore. I'd have to go it alone. I exist in this space where career is important and thriving is essential. I'm caught up in being hyper-focused. But in staying hip and current and metro, I've fallen out of balance. I suppose that awareness made it easier for me to see myself as "not having."
I don't have camping buddies. And I don't have my best friends at my disposal. I don't have anyone calling me over for a holiday barbeque. I don't have anyone having casual dinners, where the guards are down and there is absolutely nothing to prove. I don't have the luxury of sitting around a fire pit and comfortably talking about nothing. I'm always on. It's exhausting.
Our time along the coast did not fix everything, but it was very nearly what the doctor ordered. I don't know who I'll eventually rope into camping but in the interim, I'll take small escapes to the life I used to have.