Whereto, Whither?

I know this isn’t a good place for me, and I think once again about leaving.  I think of breaking a contract and starting somewhere else.  It’s a lack of options I suppose that keeps me here, and the feeling that in some way, I might be on track to a life that is more satisfying and fulfilling, just beyond the horizon.

Thoughts of my own mortality press upon me more regularly, more often than in the past.  I feel my age.  My face becomes weathered and world-weary, my body thickens out, and boyish charm gives way to a certain despondency – but perhaps it’s not all that bad.

I do think of leaving this place, of taking up a new profession, or simply devoting myself to writing – to living a little more free and if I could say it, authentically.  I know this isn’t the place for me and I see my face passing, but most miraculously and puzzling of all, I seem to do very little to change the trajectory that I’m on.

I think it’s amazing sometimes that I could give myself over to something I don’t believe in, when other opportunities – perhaps a little more uncertain or unstable – are certainly available.  Thoughts of an irrevocable move, or an irredeemable mistake.

I imagine that I fear loneliness and a lack of meaning or purpose.

I know I shouldn’t be here, but it’s so easy to be here… to carry on, day in and day out.  To set oneself on fixed rails… within a system…

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