Monday, June 09, 2003

I feel like I'm missing something.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm having all of these disturbing dreams about loss. Loss of friends, loss of relationships, loss of love... these feelings are haunting me right now. There's nothing concrete about my dreams, but there's a consistent pattern to them. My dreams consist of something like this: I fall away from another person; I realize my mistake; I apologize; I draw an uneasy truce; and I wake up, realizing that this was all fantasy, and I haven't really reconnected with these people in my past. I'm still far away from everyone that I used to love.

I've been drowning myself in romantic movies and music in response to these feelings of melancholy. I know I've talked about Bend It Like Beckham... but did I mention Music From Another Room? Pretty In Pink? Little Voice? Kissing Jessica Stein? Some Kind of Wonderful? Stanley and Iris? At times, I feel like I'm addicted to the "dramedy" genre of film. None of these movies are particularly great... but they provide fodder for my soul. They feed my cravings for a happy ending. I watch two people fall in love and live a fairy tale. And for that brief moment, I leave my chair and drift in the clouds. And then the credits roll, and I'm wrenched back to Earth.

Do happy endings exist outside of the celluloid world? I'm sure they do. Despite these little bouts of uneasiness, I really enjoy my life. I've met some amazing people, done some extraordinary things, traveled to exotic locales... and I foresee multiple adventures in my future. Anything seems possible - higher education, a successful career (or several successful careers), world travel, even a hint of danger. I want to be able to tell my grandchildren about the life lessons I've learned and encourage them to reach out and grab experiences by the horns... I'd like to say that I've truly lived my life.

If I aspire to exemplify this sort of attitude, then why am I so hung up on my failures? Doubt and fear peek around the corner, always threatening every new venture. I can't help remembering rejections, embarrassing interactions with former friends, and yes, times where I've hurt others. My parents expect me to become successful in life; my friends expect me to behave in a certain manner; the church expects me to follow the minutia of its tenets. I juggle guilt and pressure and the realities of everyday life. Essentially, I'm desperately trying to move on from ancient issues, but the past drags me down with the weight of old pain. Sometimes I feel the only way to escape these thoughts is to leave the physical location of the memory. But I'm still hurting, even when I'm miles away.

When I step back to re-examine the words I've written, I can't help thinking how... trivial and common I am. Who am I to think that I'm unique? Every person in the world faces this sort of self-doubt; what makes me any more special than the next person on the blogger ring? Is the title of my journal, Dramatic Monotony, indicative of my entire existance? Did I just fall into a trap of my own design?

I can't answer that. There are a lot questions I can't answer.