It's quarter past eleven on a Friday night and I should more than likely have gone to bed a long time ago. Instead I stay up, pondering things I have already gone over a hundred times before.
By now I think I know myself well enough to be able to quite confidently say I am mediocre. I always have been and perhaps I always will be. Since I was young what I wanted was to find something I was excellent at, something that would distinguish me and that I could build a career on. I must have been around seven or eight when I played with my younger sister Hanna in my nan's yard - we had our porcelain dolls with us. Mine was a baby and I called it Anna. In these games I was a single mother who did not have much time for my daughter because I was busy travelling the globe on business. That's what I grew up expecting my life to become - hard work, dedication and passion. I'm starting to feel like I squandered that dream; like I never fulfilled my potential. I am finding myself doubting that there was any potential to begin with, although part of me furiously refuses to believe that.
Once in a while I break myself down (for some reason I always manage to do it to myself) and I badger myself about these dreams I had. About how what I truly want is to excel at something; instead I am mediocre. A jack of all trades but a master of none, as they say. When I come to these points I have asked Rob, plenty of times, what I am good at. A few times he has said "you are the best at loving me" and whilst it is a truly beautiful notion and I understand what he is trying to say I have always failed to convey to him how insulting it is at the same time. The reason why I am so insulted by it is because I cannot build my life on being an abstract quality like loving someone else. I am sure, to some, dedicating their life to another person is a fulfilling and meaningful existence but I want the meaning of my life to be more than just a means to making someone else happy. I need my life to be about making me happy. It is a deeply selfish wish but I need to find something to love about myself that has nothing to do with another person. Something that is mine, that is part of my personality and that I can look at and think 'you kow what - I am proud of that'.
When I thought about it tonight I realised I view myself as an opaque sphere. I can see the surface, but underneath I have no idea what my being is made up of. Is it just air? Smoke and mirrors? Or is there more substance there? I need to find out but so far I cannot get through and it's all just surface.
I believe it was my father who said 'Life is meaningless but the only thing even more meaningless is killing yourself' - I think I live to that motto a lot more often than is probably healthy. All I have to do is find the meaning of my life. That's all I have to do. Easy, isn't it?
My rant is over. I'm going to exercise my, so far, biggest talent of loving my boyfriend by preparing his sandwich for tomorrow. It feels good to blow off some steam once in a while.
G'night xx
Saga
