I took myself out to dinner tonight. Actually, I'm that person who is sitting in Wagamama, alone, absorbed in her iPhone. And I enjoyed it.
Actually, it was really necessary. Back in the NYC days, I used to go to dinner by myself all the time and I really enjoyed it. It was an opportunity to sit and relax and reflect in my own little world - and not have to do the dishes. So I decided to treat myself to that luxury tonight, because man do I have a lot of thinking to do.
I've blogged a lot in the past about work and my frustrations, and how I just don't know what my goals are anymore. I have spoken to so many people about it, about what I think I want and where I want to be metaphorically and how to get there. Friends of mine who are all much further along the "career validation high self esteem and net worth" track than myself have said that I really need to think about where I want to be in 5 years, so I can put the necessary pieces in place to achieve that goal. Uhh... I hope I have a dog by then. I hope I live in a bigger place by then. Might be nice to even own said place!
I hope I've been to India, Japan, Thailand, Vietnam (hell, just ASIA), Syria, and Cuba by then. I hope I've run a marathon by then. I hope The Irishman is still around then. Oh, and I hope I have a Chanel 2.55 bag by then.
Ok so most of the things I want to achieve involve buying stuff. Hopefully that doesn't mean I'm superficial. But I am worried that nothing I e listed involves personal achievement. Maybe running the marathon, but I consider that just masochism. Seriously though, I'm worried about myself. I used to be so goal oriented; I used to have so many things I wanted to achieve, personally, scholarly, professionally, and now I'm just going with the flow and undirected. I need to find a raison d'etre, something that thrills and excites me and makes me get out of bed in the morning.
I'm thinking about writing, but not really sure how to start. I have a few ideas, but I have no motivation. It's hard enough keeping up the blog, and wrestling with the reality of recording my seeming insignificant life. While at Wagamama, I caught up on the blogs in Byline and man some people are so creative, so witty. Can I hack it with them? Can I be a professional writer? I can barely be a professional.
I hadn't solved it by the time I'd drained the end of my Tiger beer, and I probably never will. But as I walked out of the restaurant, I felt, if nothing else, that my quality time with myself was well spent.
