Life happens. I get distracted. I stop writing. I spend a lot of time worrying about the future. What work will I do, where will the money come from. I forget to focus on the things that feed me, I find it harder and harder to concentrate. “Ifs” and “whens” start to rule my life. I'm back in the corridor, waiting for life to happen. I yearn for the emptiness of travel, the immediacy of the moment. I'm Alice caught behind the mirror again and find myself peering through it to see the vague reflection of another world on the other side.
I have settled on this side of the mirror for now. I have a home, I’ve unpacked my life. Where I was always eager to write about my travels whilst I was away I’m now impatient to get it done so I can move on to the next thing. My life slowly becomes a trance again, one which I will continuously try to escape from, mostly without luck. My head becomes filled with empty space, cotton wool. Words escape me. My shopping lists get longer as I spend more and more time at home. I am restless, lonely. I read too much into what other people say and talk my mouth off when I see them, which is rare. I have settled.
Could there be anything less rewarding?
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