I’m sitting on the subway, like any other morning commute, and I’m looking at all the tired, somber faces sitting with me. How many of these people are happy? How many love what they do? Nobody is speaking. They sit quietly, on their way to their 9-5 grind- and I realize it’s not them who’s unhappy. It’s me. I’m projecting my lack of fulfillment on to strangers.
I have these dreams of waking up on a beach. I explore the world, try new things, learn about different people and break out from my comfort zone. I want to break out of my own life.
I was raised by kind, good people who wanted the best for me. They encouraged me to do well in school, to find a steady job, buy a home and have a family. They do their best to provide this for me because this is their life. That is their generation’s life, the baby boomer life. This is a good life.
But I’m craving for more.
A life where I help people. Sharing my vulnerabilities in a way that reaches out to a person who needs those words. To build people up. I’ve finished my commute and instead of somber faces, I’m projecting my feelings on my coffee mug that says Déjà vu.
This mug makes a good point.