spare parts and broken hearts

Of late I've been finding myself becoming so shallow, so insipid, it's downright frightening.

This isn't exactly new. I've never been 'the knowledgeable one' among friends. Also never been one to seek out new experiences or eke out my own in uncharted territory. It's unfortunate but in the past 23 years, I've done nothing extraordinary nor groundbreaking and on a much tinier level - anything that I can genuinely call my own. I've settled into the cushy role of little lamb because frankly there's nothing I do better (and is easier) than just following. And that's all I've done for so long... I don't quite know how else to live my life.

But this is on a whole new baby wading pool level of shallow. I don't know when I stopped thinking. Completely. I just let life take over and I let myself coast along on the gentle waves. I stopped paddling. I stopped trying. Because... It's the easy way out, right? Along the way, I've stopped questioning. I've even stopped penning down page after page of my thoughts and dreams and desires and rants and raves and fantasies about the future and dissatisfaction with anything everything. In fact you'll be hard pressed to find anything I've written within the past year that doesn't conclude with 'Best Regards', conveys even a sliver of personality and totals more than 400 words. I guess I just don't have burning desires (save for this, no shame!) anymore.

I honestly don't know how long it's been since I've completely lost that zest that I see in so many of my friends. Surely I'm not the only one who feels like this. We've all been dumped unceremoniously into the real world, training wheels just taken off, our wobbly selves trying to find proper footing... Right?

How much longer can I hide behind this facade?

Cathartic ranting is cathartic. Not fueled by 4/20 I promise.