I’m lost. I have no idea what I’m doing. Why am I journalism major? I can’t say what I want to through words. I don’t want to spend my life getting into and reporting other people’s lives. I want to do something. I want to improve the quality of life for others, and myself. Yet here I am, living in a house with seven others, in a relationship with the same guy for the last four years, steadily on my way to a bachelor’s degree, and I have never felt so alone and incapable. What am I living for?
I keep thinking I should make a list of ways to change. I want to make real friends. I’m trying to maintain the friendships that I think are really strong, but none of those people live here in Philadelphia. Lately I haven’t wanted to blog because I’ve felt like nothing I say matters. That’s how the people around me make me feel. I need to live for real relationships.
Right now, I’m living for change. I know that this is not the way things will always be. I know that I am constantly in transition. Who I am is not who I will be in a year, or maybe even a month. I’m ready to leave Philadelphia and find what another place will do to me. I’m living to make a difference, and I know I will find that, but first I have to find out everything I can about me. I’m still lost, but I think I can find myself somewhere else.
Change is inevitable. Meaning isn’t. But that’s what I crave: the truth. The Postal Service said it best: I want so badly to believe that there is truth, and love it real/And I want life in every word, to the extent that it’s absurd.