Finding Meaning In Monotony

Oh no.  Here it comes again.  That dubious season when I get itchy.  Not the kind of itchy that requires Gold Bond, but kind of itchy that is warning me of complacency.

I have a huge problem with feelings of ineffectiveness.  I'm one of those who think that life should have some grand meaning.  That I'm put on this earth to matter, and that I shouldn't let one day go by without leaving an impression of some kind.

I dread blandness. In anything- food, books, decorating, life...  you get the idea.  Unfortunately there are times where the well seems to have run dry and there is only stillness.  Stillness is what makes me itchy.

Women my age are at a crossroads.  We've reached a point where if we haven't picked a destination by now, time could be running out.  I worry that my time might be getting too short to seriously be able to do certain things I've always dreamed of doing.  Why do we have to feel as if our life has to have some grand meaning, I ask you?  Maybe not everyone does, but I certainly do and it can cause me to loose sleep.  I refuse to accept that my life is just this existence with no purpose. 

I am mortified by the sting of monotony.  Not that I'm discontent.  If anything, I'm quite comfortable with the life I'm living now.  It just in need of some sort of shake-up.  A change, or a goal.  But not a reprieve. 

I try to remind myself that "It's Never Too Late to Be What You Might Have Been".  I love this quote by George Eliot, and I especially love the print I have from Mary Englebreit.  I keep it framed and hanging in my bedroom so that I can draw inspiration from it daily.  It's encouraging, and a way to remember that I can still do anything I decide I want to.

As I settle into my mid-thirties, I begin to understand the expression "Youth is Wasted on the Young."  It couldn't be more true!  When I was younger, I took so much for granted.  (Skin elasticity, for starters)  But also, I possessed a certain naivety.  I just assumed everything I always wanted would come to pass. 

Well, I still don't own a Victorian Bed and Breakfast.  I can check so many things off my list, but still.  There are others that I can see within reach.  Can't call it "finding myself", I'm not necessarily lost.

Oh, I don't know.  I suppose I'm just bored.  And I'm searching, as always.  Looking for the next new thing.